


Mass Effect 1: Soul of redemption

by Cyclone5



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Anti-Hero, Custom Shepard (Mass Effect), Evil Shepard, F/M, Mass Effect 1, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 211,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyclone5/pseuds/Cyclone5
Summary: Dark, sadistic, and probably even evil. John Shepard never wanted to be these things, but a life of pain and loss has twisted him into a man far past renegade. Follow the story of a broken soldier as he is forced to face the things he has done. He won't find peace or attornment, but maybe he can find meaning in trying to save life, as opposed to taking it.





	1. Beginnings

A/N: If anyone notices, yes I rewrote and/or edited a lot of this chapter. Some things have changed, but nothing that would change the overall plot.

> * * *

"The child is the most brutal of soldiers, capable of committing horrendous atrocities, even more so than the adult. The adult knows right from wrong; the child does not" - paraphrased quote whose author I cannot find but have heard before. Enjoy!

* * *

Don’t we all love being children, growing up with two loving and caring parents who would gladly give up their own lives for our own? We never cherish what we have until we lose it. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, he didn’t have that problem. He didn’t have to worry about being grateful because he had nothing to be grateful for. Plus, there was nothing to be grateful for on the streets anyway. Here, in the underworld of the city, amongst piles of garbage and tent cities and abandoned warehouses, nobody cares what you are grateful for. The rules are simple; take, or what little you have will be taken from you; fight, or get the shit beaten out of you; and sometimes, kill or be killed. He had learned quickly the way things work down here.

“Hey kid, you got an ounce?” The voice was old and raspy. The man wore an old wool coat, stained with alcohol. He had rotting, blackened teeth; well, only for the few teeth he had left. He had sickly yellow eyes, pupils dilated, and open sores on his face. The man looked about fifty. For a drug addict, that meant the man in front of him was roughly thirty.

“It’s gonna cost you,” Shepard replied, his hands tightening around the worn paper bag. Get them addicted, then gradually increase the price as they needed more; a simple and effective method to make money.

The man coughed into the sleeve of his jacket. “This is the fifth time!” He eyed the bag in John’s hands, fantasizing about the drugs inside.

“Ya, I don’t care. Pay up or get the fuck out. Hundred or nothing.” Shepard crossed his arms over his bony chest, trying to puff himself up and look bigger than he actually was.

However, the man was undeterred. He lunged forward, trying to grab the bag of drugs. Shepard sidestepped and tripped the man with his foot. Already off-balance from his dazed lunge, the man fell to the ground. John grabbed the back of the man’s head and smashed it on the floor. A trickle of blood began to leak out. The man wasn’t dead, but he definitely wouldn’t be remembering anything. Shepard began to rummage through his pockets, searching for any money in the man’s coat. Finding what he was looking for, he removed the credit chit. One-thousand credits. _Must have cashed in that unemployment welfare check recently._ Shepard stuffed the money into his backpack and started to walk away. It was getting late, nearing the end of his shift anyway. Time to return to the boss with the earnings. He’d only give them the drug money and get his cut back. The theft didn’t belong to them, it was his.

He climbed a fire escape, it’s rust rubbing off on his hands, turning them maroon. Reaching the top, he looked over the slums. Smoke rose into the air. Garbage piled on every street corner, waiting for the pickup that never came. This place was a filthy mess, but it was home. He started to run across the rooftops. The buildings were only separated by meager alleyways and narrow streets, the distance engendered not enough to stop Shepard from jumping between roofs.

* * *

“What do you mean you can only give me two hundred? I sold way more than that!”

The man behind the counter raised his hands, showing that the situation was out of his control. “Listen kid, I’m sorry, but money’s been tight recently. I’ll add it to your records, but business hasn’t been so good lately.”

Shepard snatched the credit chit out of the accountant’s hand. He would take what he could get simply because there was little else that he could do. “How so?” Shepard asked.

“No clue. And before I forget, Marcus told me to tell you this: meeting at his place.”

“When, tonight?”

“Now.”

Shepard sighed under his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was see his manager or get beat up again. Some monsters are just too big to topple. Then again, Shepard wasn’t much to look at. He was like a flee on the back of a wooly mammoth. He retreated down the hallway, away from the ‘banker’. Well, technically he was a banker for Meryl Lynch; but he had to run after he got caught embezzling money into his own accounts. Now, he worked underneath the city, in a crumbling building, handling drug money, waiting for the one day he slipped up and got killed. This place was the great equalizer, capable of reducing even the wealthiest who lived in mansions to little more than bookkeeping slaves.

He pushed open an old wooden door, slamming it against the wall. A dim light flickered in the stairwell, and he could hear the dull buzzing of electricity running through the filament. Shepard began to descend the staircase, each step causing the wood to creak and slightly warp, even under his minor weight. He noticed the slight haziness that clouded the air, and he started to sniff the air once or twice: they were smoking down here again. In the beginning, he had questioned its safety, but he’d gotten a pummeling, and he quickly learned to keep his mouth shut. Nobody cares for your opinion, or what is right or wrong, down here.

He reached the bottom floor and was faced with several hallways, each going in different directions. Maybe if the cops ever came here, they would have trouble navigating this place, but not Shepard. He slowly navigated the corridors, in no particular hurry to arrive at his destination. He was surrounded by old cinderblocks, some covered in green mold. While being better lit than the staircase, the lamps in the ceiling still cast an eerie glow on everything.

Eventually, he found the room he was looking for. He knew this was the right place; both because he had been here before and also because he could hear the rowdiness of the men inside. He pulled the door open, only to be hit by an intense blast of drug-laden air. He tried to waft it out of his face, but it was a lost cause as he was going in the room anyway. He stepped inside, pulling the door behind him.

“Shepard! What the fuck took so long,” Marcus yelled at him. The last person Shepard wanted to hear.

“I just got back. How bout you give me the money I’m owed, and I’ll arrive a little faster.” An empty beer bottle came careening at his head, but Shepard deflected it with his arm, and it shattered on the wall behind him, sprinkling the floor with brown glass. It would most likely stay there for the foreseeable future; after all, nobody cleaned up this place, and he definitely wasn’t going to start.

A group of men sat around a cheap plastic table, cards and chips scattered about. They were playing poker again. Shepard could only mull over the irony; playing a strategic game with thousands of dollars on the table, and they were all impaired by drugs and alcohol. Shepard could have joined, even easily won. But all the money he would have gotten would have been taken away because he wouldn’t be able to hold them all off in a fight. Sighing with discontent, he pulled a chair over and took a seat, watching the game.

“So, you needed to see me?” Shepard asked.

Marcus rested his hand of cards on the table, face down of course. He indicated with his gaze that the others should stop as well, and they complied. It still sometimes shocked Shepard that such rough characters, with tattoos covering their bodies and scar tissue dotting their skin, could be so afraid of one man. Combined together, they could all easily overpower Marcus and kill him. But they never did. That was the power of dominance and hierarchy. Marcus had earned his place already. Shepard was a nobody.

“We have a job tonight. We leave in an hour!”

Everyone looked at him for an explanation. Marcus scanned their expectant eyes, and a scowl of anger flashed on his face.

“Down on 116th. Some other fucking gang is selling red sand on our blocks. The boss has tasked us with dealing with it.”

Some of the other men in the room removed their sidearm from their waist, displaying their flashy armaments on the table. However, Shepard was less than enthused. “What do you mean ‘deal with it’?”

Marcus started to laugh, an evil bellow that echoed throughout the room. “Well, we’re going to kidnap one of them. Torture them. Find out who’s selling to them. And kill them,” he stated with glee, almost as if he was going to enjoy the task ahead of them.

Shepard stood up, preparing to argue against Marcus. “Wait, wait… I never agreed to this. I sell drugs, that’s been the arrangement since the beginning.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not a murderer.”

Marcus slowly started to walk around the table, approaching Shepard. “Who’s been feeding your sorry ass?” Marcus reached the end of the table. “Taking care of your ass?” He was only a couple feet in front of Shepard now. “Watching out for you?”

Shepard tried taking a step backward, but he crashed with the chair behind him and fell into it. Marcus charged him, smacking him in the side of his head. “Cause it wasn’t the fucking government or military! With their stupid laws! And their rules!” Spit flew out of Marcus’ maw as he screamed at Shepard. “So what’s it going to be? I’ll just fucking kill you right now!

“Al-right,” he managed to choke out in fear, “alright.”

“Then, GET UP!” Marcus roared. John complied, eager to avoid further confrontation. But while his body followed Marcus’ orders, his brain did not. He felt like he was about to walk into a giant mistake. Did he have a choice? The answer was no. He made his choice all those years ago when he decided to leave the orphanage. In retrospect, he couldn’t really blame himself. There was barely ever any food; they had to fight over garbage scraps and eat from dumpsters. The staff routinely beat them. Rats and roaches and every pest imaginable surrounded them, crawling in the walls and on the floor and the few belongings they did have. After he left that place, he made his choice again, when he didn’t have any money or food, and he decided to start selling drugs. He made sure never to use them, not wanting to get addicted. He’d seen what they did to the people he’d sold them to. He’d made his choice years ago, and now, entrenched in this miserable place, he would not be able to get out from under it without severe consequences.

* * *

They patrolled the surrounding blocks, making sure no police were near. Shepard could only snort at the irony. What was the point? The police were never here. The area wasn't important enough for the city; the upper-level districts, where the well-off lived and controlled government, were of a much higher priority. It would cost them too much money to protect the people down here, and they were perfectly content to leave the lower levels like this.

Hiding under a dirty yellow awning, Shepard could see the target. While the man was definitely older than Shepard, it couldn’t have been by more than a couple of years. He wore an old-fashioned drawstring backpack, much like himself. Despite this, Shepard could tell he was new to the job; the man mostly looked at the floor instead of watching around him. John knew that mistake well and made sure it never happened again. He learned quickly that not paying attention made you the easiest victim. Being negligent was a luxury people couldn’t afford down here. Unfortunately, it would be too late for this man. He couldn’t deny feeling a bit guilty, but even if Shepard stopped himself, this man was still doomed.

Marcus had parked one of the gang's air-vans down the block, waiting for his crew to complete the job. John heard Marcus’ aggravating voice over his earpiece. “You guys are good to go. Grab him now. Once he is down on the ground, I'll drive by and you guys can take him in the cargo area with you." While implants linked via omni-tool would have been more convenient, proper medical care for cheap was nonexistent at this level; it was much more affordable to use old school equipment being thrown away.

Five men, including John, began to approach their victim from different directions, walking casually. The dealer, oblivious to his impending capture, continued to stare blankly at the ground, waiting for his next customer. However, the only ‘customer’ he got was the jab of a needle in his neck. The plunger of the syringe was pushed down, and sedatives were injected deep into his neck. His screams of pain were cut short as more men surrounded him, clamping hands over his mouth, reducing his loud cries to muffled screams. His struggling quickly faded as he was overwhelmed by the chemical cocktail.

As promised, Marcus brought the van over to them. John helped to carry their victim towards the back of the truck. They tossed the man inside, and Shepard climbed into the back with the others. Each of the gang members tried to secure themselves as best they could, but it was a futile attempt without actual seats. The van began to move, and several of them almost lost their balance as they began to accelerate.

John began to have second thoughts about his actions. He’d never killed a person before, and he’d hoped he would never have to. While he wouldn’t mind it in self-defense, this was anything but. This was outright murder. _The depths to which I have fallen._ Trying to resolve his guilt, he comforted himself in the fact that he wouldn’t be the one to kill this man. He was going to die anyway, whether Shepard was here or not. Sighing in frustration, Shepard held onto the railing inside the cargo area as the van made abrupt turns. It would seem Marcus’ driving was as worse as ever. Then again, none of them had ever gotten their licenses anyway.

* * *

They arrived back at the complex, again deep underground the city. They jumped out of the van, dragging the man’s limp body out of the truck and letting him drop off the edge. He hit the floor with a sickening thud, and Shepard flinched.

“Come on, bring him downstairs,” Marcus ordered as he walked past them swiftly. They picked up the body, some grabbing a limb, others supporting the torso, as they carried him through the hallway to the staircase. Marcus opened the door and ushered them down. The weight of so many bodies on the wooden staircase caused it to groan in protest louder than usual. When they reached the bottom, Marcus started to walk down a different hallway, towards a section of the basement Shepard had never been to and told never to go to.

They approached a room with two men armed with shotguns standing guard. They swiftly stepped aside as they saw Marcus approach, allowing him and the others passage into the room. John could tell the walls of the room were made of red brick and cement through the plastic… wait, plastic! He quickly realized that the walls and floor of the room were covered with thick, translucent plastic sheets. He was stunned by its presence, but it quickly dawned on him why it was here: it made the mess about to be made a lot easier to clean up. The room was sparsely furnished, with a singular metal chair placed against the wall. John was now thoroughly terrified, but even more scared of backing out in front of Marcus.

They deposited the man in the center of the room as Marcus closed the door behind them. "Alright boys, now the real fun begins!", Marcus bellowed with a sadistic grin plastered on his face. John and the other men looked at each other, trying to determine if any among them knew what was going to happen next. They all knew this man was going to die tonight, but the odd steps they had to go through to apprehend him, and the fact that they had to bring him into a guarded room with plastic over the walls, only expanded the grim possibilities that could happen.

He pointed at a pile of ropes with his hand, giving new orders: "Get that rope over there. Tie 'em up to the chair." He then picked up the lone metal chair and slammed it down in the center of the room. As John and the others complied, encircling the man’s arms and legs with rope, Marcus abruptly left the room. A minute later, Marcus returned with pliers, hammers, and a syringe full of orange liquid. He tossed all but the syringe to the floor, keeping the delicate syringe within his fist. After approaching the man, Marcus stabbed the needle into their captive’s neck and administered its contents.

The man's eyes started to flutter open. Initially, he was dazed and confused, but once he scanned the room, fear quickly crept onto his face. "What the fuck! Who the fuck are you people! I swear I'll…" the man started to say before realizing that his threat was hollow. He tried to stand up but found himself tied down by ropes. He tried to scream for help, but the sound only bounced off the thick walls, reaching no one that could help him.

“You have two options; one, tell us everything you know about the gang you work for and we’ll let you go; or two, we’ll beat the crap out of you, get the information, and then beat you to death.”

"I ain't telling you nothing, bitch! Let me out of here or when my people find me I swear to god I will kill…"; his response was cut short as Marcus smashed his fist into the man's face, knocking several teeth out. The man futilely spit out blood and the remains of his shattered teeth, only to have it end up on his shirt and pants.

"John, grab those pliers over there."

When John heard this, he was too afraid to even move. He didn't want to be in the room, let alone take part in this man's torture. Wasn't kidnapping him enough? The man continued to struggle in the chair, and Shepard watched it with intent, secretly hoping the man would escape.

"NOW! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!" Shepard was knocked back into reality, away from his daydream: there would be no hope here. He quickly reached for the pliers and walked towards Marcus, holding them out for him to take. "What are you giving them to me for? You're gonna be doing it. Start with the fingernails."

John looked at Marcus with shock on his face. "I can't," he choked out.

"If you don't start tearing out his nails in the next 5 seconds, I swear I’ll have those guys over there do to you what you were supposed to do to this guy."

John wanted to think that he didn't know how he got himself in this mess, but he knew **exactly** how he got himself here. But to him, it wasn’t fair. He didn't ask to be orphaned after slavers attacked Mindoir and killed both his parents; he didn't ask to be sent to an orphanage on Earth. His whole life he had felt trapped, forgotten, and left with no good options. He wanted to be smart and successful, like all those people he saw on those Holo-vid TV shows, but he knew it was futile. He was in a gang basement, holding a pair of pliers, and about to torture a man who had never done anything to him. Sighing in frustration, John stepped forward and faced the man. He was clearly dazed; being drugged twice and then punched by Marcus tended to do that. With shaking hands, John opened the pliers and then grabbed the man's rebellious index. Marcus put a hand around the man's throat and began to squeeze with moderate force; not enough to suffocate, but just enough to make it very hard to breathe. "Last chance, jackass, tell us what you know and where you get your shit, or tonight is going to be a long night."

John was hopeful; maybe he would tell Marcus what he wanted to know and John wouldn't have to be forced to pull the fingernails. Unfortunately, his hopes were gradually dashed as the man looked back at Marcus, staying quiet, hateful gaze plastered on his face. "John. Now."

Reluctantly, John began to pull with the pliers at the man's fingernail, gently at first. Marcus noted that the man still had 10 of his fingernails, and slowly turned his head to face John. _Fuck it, my life or his_ , John thought to himself as he started to pull with more force. The man started to scream, much to John's terror, but he dared not stop. Noticing that the nail was still refusing to budge, he started to wiggle the plier side to side, increasing the man's already loud screams of pain. After a few more agonizing seconds, John pulled the nail free; his hands shook in fright, and his grip around the pliers was so tight that he couldn't drop the nail.

* * *

For an hour, screams echoed throughout the halls. Mostly because of Shepard and what he was being forced to do. John almost believed that he was the one being tortured, but a glance at his victim readjusted his perspective. Eight of his fingernails were missing. The left shinbone was cracked in half, making the leg look a little less straight than it should have.

"Wait… please, I'll tell you what I know,” he cried, his agonizing howl of despair scaring Shepard to his core. "You'll let me live, right?" asked the man.

"If you tell us everything. Start talking; locations, members, drops."

"Alright… they, they have this place at 3756 Blake Street, 4th level. We weren't supposed to know but I followed a supplier back one day. From what I have heard, that's where their boss sits during the day. They smuggle some light arms there too. That's all I know, I swear. They said if I ever said anything, they would kill my family. Please, let me go; I need to get out of this city."

Marcus looked at the man for a couple of seconds and then replied: "Thank you for your help. You have made my day a lot easier. '' He then reached to his waistline and pulled out a gun from under his shirt.

"Wait, you said you'd let me go! Please, you promised…I never even killed anyone" cried the man.

Marcus laughed before replying. "I guess you're right. I did say I wouldn't kill you." Marcus then held out the gun for John to take.

 _No, no, no. Why can't we just let him go? I am not doing that. Don't touch the gun_.

Marcus, sensing John’s hesitation, then reached towards his waistline again to produce another gun, which he promptly pointed directly at John's head. "You kill him, or I will kill you both. We don’t have compassion for our enemies."

John was thoroughly terrified; he had never killed anyone before. Having to take a life had never occurred to him when he joined all those years ago. He was just in it for the money. As John reached for the gun with shaking hands, he again mentally kicked himself for the actions he took that led him here. John held the cold metal handle with a death grip, turning the safety off as he did so. He had never held a gun before, but what truly terrified him was that he was being forced to kill someone in cold, blooded, murder. He pushed the barrel it into the man's forehead; he tried to look into the man's eyes one last time, to at least acknowledge the soul he was about to take, but the look of terror and anguish instantly made him look away. "Please, man…please don't do this…I told you what you wanted!”

John again hesitated, fear paralyzing his body and mind. **Click,** John heard next to him, realizing that Marcus had turned off the safety of the gun pointed at his head. He realized his time had run out. He tried to look at the man one last time, but finding himself unable to, looked away as he pulled the trigger.

The gun rocked in his hands, and he almost dropped it. He was instantly covered in blood, and easily identifiable pieces of brain were splattered on the floor. _'Marcus did this. It is not your fault',_ he tried to tell himself. But then he remembered who pulled the trigger: he did this. Marcus looked at the other men assembled in the room, who mostly watched the show with little interest and told them: "Clean this shit up. Burn his body in the incinerator. And change your clothes. The last thing we want is for someone to get caught with evidence."

Marcus looked at John with a grin plastered all over his face, easily contrasting the stunned shock on John's. "You're a man now. This is life on the streets. There is no room for good, you know that."

John was too shocked to say anything. On some level, he had always known that what Marcus said was true, but he still had options, didn't he? John wanted to think of himself as a good person, that his soul was still pure. But he quickly realized that what was left of his innocence had been splattered on the floor and all over his shirt.

John tried to hand the gun back to Marcus, but he refused. "Keep it. It's yours now. Think of it as a little present cause your gonna need it soon. M-6 Carnifex. Good gun. Got it when I mugged some drunk alliance soldiers on leave."

* * *

John sat in the aircar next to Marcus. He wanted to go with the other members, but Marcus had insisted; well, harshly insisted, that is. As soon as Marcus reported the information that he had gathered, he was told that he was to take a team, capture the building, and kill everyone inside. Turf war time, and it was John’s first.

Marcus brought with him: the same men from yesterday's events, John, and a few other older men that John had never seen; he assumed they were hired muscle for the gang, but he was never given the specifics.

John did not want to be here. He was barely keeping it together after yesterday; he felt broken inside. Any semblance of his humanity slowly bled out of him as the hours dragged by, replaying the events in his head over and over again. The desperate pleas of the man, the feel of the gun in his hand, the splatter of blood afterword; he was sure these memories would haunt him forever.

Unfortunately, however hard John tried to get away from the horrors of life, he couldn't. Now, he was trapped, sitting in an aircar next to a maniac, with no hope in sight. Comm chatter from Marcus’ omnitool, one of the few he had ever seen, informed them of the situation. "Ready and in position," said one; "waiting on you" stated another. Marcus got out of the aircar and started to walk towards the back door of the building. Reluctantly, John got up as well, jogging after Marcus.

The building was a large warehouse. Its glass windows were covered with grime and dust, and its bricks, which should have been red, were faded to almost gray. "Shepard. Get ready. Once we go in, it's going to be a mess. Kill anyone in there, do you understand? No hesitation or they will kill you."

John gulped and nodded his head; _'at least they will be trying to kill me this time'_ , he thought to himself, recalling last night’s murder of the helpless man.

Marcus stopped in front of a rusted metal door and looked back at John. "The others will be blowing open the front entrance. We are going to flank them from behind while they are distracted and kill them. And take out your gun. You gonna walk into hell with your hands empty?" John quickly got Marcus' pistol, his pistol, and held it in his grip. The weapon felt lighter and heavier at the same time; John was now more familiar with its weight, but the weapon dragged him down with the memories of last night.

Marcus turned to John and told him "Get Ready", before opening his commlink to the others: "Boys, now's our chance. Show these assholes what a TRUE gang looks like". Marcus shot the lock off the door in front of them and walked inside, John close behind. The back of the warehouse was filled with rows of crates stacked on top of one another; some were drugs, but others were most likely smuggled goods, mods, and weapons. John started to hear gunfire and screaming from the men inside as he made his way to a set of stairs. The stairs led up to a wide walkway on the side of the warehouse, with cargo crates scattered about, which he hoped would provide perfect cover.

John ran up the stairs quickly. Finding a large crate, he ducked behind it. _There, I am far enough away from Marcus that he won't know I didn't fight. And no one will find me up here either._ John sat there for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the sounds of gunfire as the rival gangs shot at each other and dodged back into cover. Eventually, the sounds of gunfire subsided and eventually disappear altogether. Hoping that the fight was almost over, he ran back down the staircase and slowly approached the middle of the warehouse. John could see that people had died, their bodies left as mangled heaps on the floor, torn apart by mass accelerator rounds. Blood pooled and flowed everywhere he looked. He increasingly became concerned as he found none of the men that came with him were alive; everyone appeared to be dead. But that couldn't be right, somebody had to fire the last shot, right?

"Shepard, you fucking dumbass… once I get up I am going to kill…" Marcus had tried to say but was cut off by a bout of intense coughing, spraying droplets of blood into the air. John froze, unsure of what he should do. Kill him? Run? Help him? His pondering was quickly cut short as Marcus raised his gun and shot John in the arm. Shepard dropped his gun as the shot had torn through the ligaments and tendons in his arm. He clutched the injury, fingers tightening to try and stop the bleeding, as he slowly walked backward. Abruptly, Marcus got up and rushed John, landing an elbow to his stomach and shoving him to the floor. John tried to get up, but his body felt like lead.

"We had a plan, but you fucked it up. Now everybody is dead cause of you," Marcus accused him. "You're gonna pay the price. You're going to die like the rest of them." Marcus raised his pistol and pointed it at John's head. All he could do was look down the barrel of the gun; _I guess this is how that man felt yesterday_. Only fitting. Knowing there was nothing he could do, John sat there, each second an eternity as he waited for his life to end.

Suddenly, John found himself encased in blue energy. The shot fired from Marcus' gun hit him in the head, or at least it should have. "What the fuck?" Marcus said in shock. Seeing that John was still alive, Marcus proceeded to fire the pistol until it blared an overheat warning. With each shot, the blue aura around John dimmed and flickered, but held fast. "When did you become a biotic freak?" Marcus asked in bewilderment, walking backward slowly. _I've had enough of this_ , John thought as he got up. He called back the fear he felt, but a more prominent emotion came with it: hatred. He was tired of having to perform Marcus' grime biddings, getting beat up, and threatened. The strange blue aura again enveloped John; he felt wisps and crackles of energy form around him. He directed his newfound power toward Marcus with an outstretched hand.

Seeing blue light expand around John, Marcus turned around and began to run. But before he could get very far, the sphere of energy around John exploded and sent a wall of force toward Marcus. The impact was strong enough to send him slamming into one of the warehouse’s massive shelves; as Marcus tumbled to the floor, the shelves and their contents crashed down on top of him. As the noise cleared, John could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Picking up his pistol and sliding it into the waist of his pants, he started sprinting as fast as he could.

After leaving the warehouse and dodging police around every corner, he stopped to assess his injuries. Seeing an entrance and exit wound, he assumed that the bullet had passed clean through his arm. It had also stopped bleeding for the most part. _Good_ , he thought to himself. While he didn't wish that he was shot, the fact that the wound had stopped bleeding and he didn't have the bullet in his arm meant that medical care wasn't an immediate necessity. Unfortunately, a bullet wound would still arise suspicion. Seeing a homeless man with a jacket down the empty street, he approached him and drew his weapon.

"Give me your fucking jacket. Now", John demanded. The homeless man looked at John, got up, and started taking off his jacket. As the man started handing over the jacket, he threw it at John and lunged for his gun. Given a split second to contemplate what to do, John did the first thing that came to his mind and pulled the trigger. John sidestepped the man as he fell to the ground, dark red blood pooling out from under him on the grimy street. John immediately froze, unsure of what to do next. His mind raced but quickly decided that he needed to get out of here fast. He picked up the jacket from the ground, thankful that the pool of blood hadn't reached it yet, holstered his pistol which felt heavier than ever, and started to walk away swiftly as he decided he had a train to catch to Vancouver. Far enough away from New York that it would be hard to implicate him, but also large enough to hide within the crowds of people there.

* * *

When he reached the subway, he looked around to make sure no cops were there. He proceeded to hop over the turnstile. If the cops were around, he would have paid, but the last thing he wanted to do was leave any trace of himself.

Over the loudspeakers, John heard: "Tonight's last train to Vancouver will be departing in one minute. Please proceed to track 17." Upon hearing the announcement, he sprinted down the length of the station until he found a staircase with a bright orange sign that said "Track 17" in bold, black letters. Running down the concrete steps two at a time, he barely made it into the train as the doors closed behind him.

Looking around the train car, he found it almost completely empty. Good, the fewer people that saw him right now, the better. He took a seat and allowed himself to feel some slight relief. As the adrenaline of the last hour faded, he began to feel the aching pain in his arm from the gunshot wound. Only making matters worse, he began to feel a powerful throbbing in his head, a precursor to the worst migraine he had ever had.

As the train began to move, he contemplated today's events. He felt broken and inhuman. Almost 18 now, and he had already killed three people. While Marcus might have had it coming, he had killed two others in cold blood. He thought that he should take out the pistol, Marcus' pistol, and end things right here and now. _What do I really have to lose anyway?_ he thought to himself. His entire life he had been a criminal, and now he was a murderer; he had no family, no friends, and had done nothing important. _Fuck it,_ he thought and reached for the pistol. As soon as he touched its handle, he stopped. _If I kill myself, that homeless man would have died for nothing. I won't let Marcus' pistol take one more person today_. If he killed himself now, then all the things he had to do, including killing his… victims would have been for nothing. No, he would carry his burden, those invisible scars, for the rest of his life, hoping he could one day atone for them.

Trying to think of something else to ward off his suicidal thoughts, he wondered just what the hell the blue energy was. _Is this some kind of magic?_ he speculated, but he quickly shot down the idea. Playing back the events in his head, he recalled Marcus calling him a "biotic". He roughly remembered that they can manipulate their environment using Mass effect fields, but he never remembered being exposed to any element zero. As a matter of fact, he didn't remember anything about his old life; his parents had died when he was two after Batarians attacked Mindoir.

John tried to stretch out and relax on the seats, but found it difficult to get comfortable in hard, unyielding plastic. When he closed his eyes to get some sleep, all he could focus on was the pain in his head. Deciding it was going to be a rough 3 hours, he tried to settle in as best he could, listening to the holo-advertisements that displayed on the walls of the train.

"Luxury, exillerence, style. Buy the new Raytheon MSx6 sky car today and get a free upgrade to our premium sound systems. No money down, and only 0.6% APR. Visit your local dealership. Terms and conditions apply", the advertisement said in a sultry voice. Yep, this is going to be a long three hours. _Why the fuck are they even running ads here, who can buy that_? He braced himself for the next ad to play. "Are you looking for purpose, teamwork, and discovery? If so, join the Systems Alliance today. Step up to the plate and defend Earth and her colonies, while having access to career advancement opportunities and services post-enlistment. Special bonuses are available for biotically talented individuals. Come into our enlistment center today and see if you make the cut, soldier," spoke the rough voice coming from the train’s speakers.

* * *

"Yes, of course, sir. Take a set over here and we will get you started on the application process," instructed the enlistment officer. As she turned to reach for a datapad, John sat down in the chair, enjoying its softness and the texture of the worn, dark brown leather. John glanced around the room; it was a rather small office area, with a few metal desks arranged into 2 neat rows, each with an alliance enlistment officer behind it.

"Here you are, sir. The application process consists of two phases. You will complete this first, so we can register your information, and then a physical assessment to determine if you’re 'soldier material', so to speak. Please, let me know if you have any questions and I will be happy to answer them."

John thanked her as he took the datapad. He began reading the text on the first page, telling its readers how 'you are taking the first step towards a better future for yourself and humanity'. Blah, blah, blah.

As John started filling the application, he faced trouble as soon as he passed the line that asked for his name. His citizenship ID number? He didn't have that! "Um… Excuse me miss, but I don't have my citizenship number", John told the officer. "That's alright," she responded in an upbeat tone, "if you want, you can take a minute and call your parents if they are at home. Maybe they can get it for you."

 _Call my parents?_ "I am sorry to bother, but I don't think I can get my ID number that way. My parents… my parents passed away when I was young," John stated, feeling depressed. _Odd_ , he thought to himself _, I can't even remember them. Why am I sad about something I can't remember?_ However, he quickly dispelled the thought from his head, ashamed.

"I apologize, sir, I didn't mean to be insensitive or upset you. If you don't have your ID with you, there is a DNA scanner in the post office across the street. They can scan you there, verify you're you and give you a temporary or new one."

And so, John returned 15 minutes later, with his newly minted ID number card. First one he ever owned actually, as the orphanage never gave him one and he never found himself needing one either. Inputting the number, he moved on through the application, eager to complete it. Mailing address? Easy, none. Doctor, none. Health insurance, none. Academics… Oh shit.

John read over the page in front of him, feeling defeated. He wanted to complete it, but he knew he couldn't. Stupid slum kid, that's what she's going to think. After another 10 minutes of signing waivers and consent forms, he reached the end of the application and handed it back to her. "Thank you, sir. Please, just let me ensure you didn't miss signing anything, and you'll be on your way."

John knew his application probably looked really bad. A whole lot of boxes left blank or filled with "none". He gripped the armrest of the chair he sat in, eager to hide his embarrassment. "Excuse me, sir," oh no, here it comes, "I believe you left the entire academic background page blank," she calmly told him.

"That's correct," he replied.

"You need to fill it out sir, so we have a good understanding of your background and how best to place you in your role. Would you mind completing it?"

John sat forward in his chair, moving closer to the officer so she could hear his whispering. "I never went to school. I don't have a GPA, and I haven't taken any of those fancy standardized tests," John stated remorsefully. Ashamed, he sat back into his chair waiting for the laughter to start. W _hat the hell am I doing here? I killed three people last week anyway, they could have found out. I don't even belong here… maybe Marcus was right… I should probably head back into the streets, find a new gang up here._ John's rapidly depressing train of thought was cut short when the lady interrupted him. "I understand. Some people aren't fortunate enough. My father grew up in the same way, but he is a great man, to me at least," the woman told him, a sympathetic smile on her face. "You can go on ahead for the physical. I'll submit this. Good luck out there."

John stood up, thanked her again, and began to walk towards what he hoped was a new beginning, a better life. Or so he thought.


	2. Upgrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John arrives at the military base to find his new life.

#  Chapter 2: Upgrade

A week after he signed up, an alliance transport whisked him and several hundred others off Earth and towards their new home.

As John sat in the metal seats, strapped in with a 5-point harness, he looked out the window as the shuttle began to take off. He had never flown before, and definitely not into space. As the shuttle gained speed and altitude, he could see the individual buildings in the city fade into tiny peaks of gray. As they went higher into the atmosphere, John began to see the green countryside, and eventually, he was presented with a ball of blue and green. John should have felt sad about leaving his home, but he wasn’t. While the blue planet certainly looked beautiful from afar, for 16 years he had known it as his place of misery and despair. Earth was just the hand that fate gave him when he lost everything on Mindoir. He was determined to get as far away from Earth as he could; every second he had spent of that planet reminded him of the lives he took and the actions he had taken.

Before John had left, he had purchased a small backpack. He didn’t have anything really; only the clothes on his back and the paperwork he had to keep hard copies of because he didn’t have an omni-tool. John had learned that all alliance marines were given omni-tools, among other things, in order to better carry out their combat roles. He was excited to get one but felt a little bummed when he learned he would only get it after he reached the base. _Cheer up,_ he told himself, _you’re getting your first omni-tool ever. You’ve lived this long without it, you can wait a little longer._

However, there was one thing he had almost not brought with him. It sat at the bottom of the bag, its weight ever-present. He didn’t want to bring it; it served as a reminder of his time on Earth, but he decided that reminder was a necessary one. He needed something to remember the pain he went through and the pain he had dealt to others. He would not get rid of that pistol. No, he would keep it. He deserved the pain it would remind him of; he would never remember Earth with fond memories, but he realized he needed to remember his past if he ever sought redemption. He needed to remember the scared faces of the men he had killed in cold blood.

Sighing as he took his last glance at Earth, he leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes, letting the humming of the engines sing him to sleep.

* * *

After arriving at the training academy, the recruits were brought to a building with rows upon rows of rooms. They were each assigned a room, which they later found out would be their “homes” for the foreseeable future. Packed in with 7 other men like sardines in a can, they were told that wakeup was “0500 SOLDIERS!!!” by the drill instructor that had met them.

John dumped his backpack on the floor, shoving it under the bed with his foot. He sat down on the lower bunk bed and silently watched the others store away their things.

“So, what’s your story guys?” asked one of the men from across the room.

“Jack. They’re paying for my college tuition when I get out of here. I don’t feel like taking out loans,” stated a man with red hair, freckles, and glasses.

“People call me Chris. My dad is in the military. So was my grandfather. I want to make them proud” responded another.

“Русский. Обязательный трехлетний сервис,” said another. _Wait, what did he say?_

 _“_ Zawsze chciałem zobaczyć przestrzeń, _”_ John heard from the other corner of the room. _They must have translators. This is going to be a rough night,_ he thought to himself.

“你呢？,” asked an Asian man as he pointed to John. John knew what they were asking, knew they would understand him, but the reverse wasn’t true.

“Um, I don’t have a translator; I can speak English though. I grew up in New York,” responded John to the assumed question.

“I speak English. We learn in school. You not learn second language too?” inquired the Asian man as he spoke broken English with a thick accent.

“Uhh…ya but I never really paid attention in class” John lied, too ashamed to admit the truth.

“I think they install translators though. Impossible to have a modern army if we can’t understand each other,” the man replied. “Tomorrow’s test is written in English though, so I don’t think you have to worry” he continued.

“Wait, what are you talking about? What test?” asked John, suddenly worried.

“Alliance aptitude battery is tomorrow,” said Chris. “You didn’t know?” he asked John.

“No, I didn’t. If I fail, do I get kicked out” he asked, suddenly worried that he was going to be shipped back to Earth.

“You’d have to try pretty hard to fail. Hell, a 5th grader could take it” Jack told him. _5 th grade, funny, _John thought pessimistically as Jack spoke. “But nothing happens if you fail. It just helps give them a better, uh, background for what to train you in. You know, where to put people.”

“What’s on it exactly?” John asked nervously.

“Half of it is just a survey about your background. You know, if you’re a biotic or have experience with programming. The other half is dumb stuff; basic reading and writing, science, and math” Jack told him.

“You learn most of the stuff during high school anyway” added Chris.

John knew he was truly screwed now. Not only did he not know any of the ‘basics’, even if he wanted to learn some of the material overnight, he did not have access to the extranet without an omni-tool.

“DINNER IS NOW BEING SERVED IN THE MESS. YOU HAVE 30 MINUTES TO EAT, THEN IT’S LIGHTS OUT” blared the loudspeaker.

* * *

John sat bolt upright in his bed only to smack his forehead into the bunk above him, sending him crashing back down into the bed. “Fuck,” he groaned slowly. What appeared to be an air horn had been sounding throughout the room. John slowly got up and opened his eyes, watching as the others in his room also rose out of their bunks.

John had gotten very little sleep last night. The bunks were barely more than a cheap bag of stuffing over hard metal that screeched and groaned at the slightest movement. He spent most of the night trying to sleep but ended up staying awake and listening to the cacophony of 7 snoring men. To top it all off, John had eaten way too much food the night before. The others had looked at him like a man possessed as he ate that night’s special (something they called Philly cheese steaks, he wasn’t sure). The others had tried convincing him that military food was bland and barely worth a second helping, but John hadn’t eaten something that tasty in a while. He wished he listened to them as his stomach groaned and churned. _Definitely no more Philly Cheese Steaks,_ he told himself.

After getting up and assembling outside their room, along with the members of each room in the corridor, the drill instructor came and ushered them towards the shower hall. What felt like a minute at most under the warm water, but was actually 15 minutes, melted away, and the recruits soon found themselves walking down the corridor and out the building after they had gotten cleaned up. Each of them was issued standard alliance uniforms to wear. When John had put it on and it felt…good. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because it made him feel like a soldier, an actual soldier, and not a “soldier” fighting battles over slums. When he saw hundreds of people all wearing the uniform, all proudly bearing the symbol of the alliance, he felt like he was part of something worth remembering.

The new recruits and John walked to a building a half mile away and were rushed in side. As he walked inside, he saw a massive room lined with desks, each with plastic wrapped package on it and two pencils. _Shit, I can barely write._

* * *

“Son, do you know why you are here?” asked the officer behind his desk as John read the name tag pinned to his uniform above numerous strips and bars. Nolan, it read. It had been two days since he had taken the test. The past two days had been filled with training exercises and introductions to alliance weapons technology. He hadn’t thought much of the test after he had taken it. Yes, he had failed spectacularly and did not even finish the essay question on the “major effects of the Occupation of Shanxi”. His inability to write effectively meant that even the simple questions he could answer took way too long to complete. _It’s either that test or they know about what I did._

“No sir” replied John weakly, as anxiety gripped his throat. He looked around the room, trying desperately to not meet the man’s intense eyes. The room was sparsely furnished and painted a bright white that irritated John’s eyes as the light reflected off the walls.

“Do you think the military is a joke? Your prank did not bring a smile to any one’s face. I’m recommending you for discharge. Get the hell off my base!” roared the officer.

“What prank…sir, what are you talking about?” asked John as he desperately tried to understand.

The officer picked up a stack of papers and tossed it to the side of the desk facing John. “Can you even begin to explain what the hell you wrote. Nobody can read your gibberish. Not even the boys in crypto could decipher it, and they had a VI try! That still doesn’t bloody explain why less than a quarter of the multiple choice was filled out! To top it all off, you even put your answers in the wrong place half the time. You are either insubordinate or dumb beyond believing, neither of which is fit to serve in this military. Now get the hell off my base. You don’t belong here.”

John stared at the man, his mouth agape, his mind in shock. “S-sir, can I explain? Please? I know it looks bad but it’s not my fault. I can explain.”

Hearing John’s request, the officer ground his teeth together as he eyed him with daggers. “Well? Why are you even here” he asked. He really wanted to hear the excuses for why the test was THAT bad.

John thought of maybe making some creative excuse to hide his shameful background, but he thought it would be better to tell the truth to this officer’s face. “Honestly sir, I never even went to school. That’s the first test I have ever taken in my life. It’s in my file, I think the recruitment office left a note.”

John hoped that answer would satisfy the officer, but he was pissed know. This smug, superior, shit eater, should have had some blood in his face. Deciding to let the officer have it, he sat forward in his chair and looked the officer straight in the eyes. “My parents died on Mindoir when I was two. I lived in an orphanage for the next 7 years and on the streets for the last 8 years. I never had the chance to go to school and never got an education. I barely know how to write because I never had the chance to learn properly.”

“If you don’t want me here, fine, I’ll get the fuck out of your way. But don’t ever question my resolve. I have seen more blood and hardship than almost any recruit here. I haven’t asked for anything extra. I just want a fucking chance to prove myself” John continued.

“And since when did your essay’s quality determine if you could kill someone. Screw this, I have already seen more combat and violence than any recruit here. Have you ever tortured someone? Killed others before they killed you as a kid?” John hissed.

_Why did I think this would be any better than where I came from? They can take my uniform and shove it,_ John thought bitterly as he stood up preparing to walk out of the office and off this godforsaken base. He didn’t care that he spoke back to and insulted a superior; what he thought would have been his salvation had come crashing down around him. He felt angrier than ever at the hand life had dealt him. Even when he tried to do something good, he was stabbed in the back by fate.

As John started to turn around and leave, he heard quite chuckling from the officer. As the seconds dragged by, he started to laugh loudly. “I like you, kid. You…got fire” he tried to say as he interrupted himself.

“Sit down” the officer instructed. Seeing that John hadn’t budged, he spoke with more force as he ordered John, “Sit DOWN soldier.”

John complied and sat down in the chair. He still felt enraged but listened to the officer’s commands, curiosity ebbing at the back of his mind.

“I read your file. I know you had it rough; more than most, even without what you just confessed to.”

Hearing the officers last words, John instantly felt stupid. He had just admitted to criminal behavior in front of an alliance officer. He could easily face prison time if a prosecutor ever put two and two together, maybe even death row.

“To put it frankly, you’re a f***ing idiot; the test doesn’t lie. But you have seen more crap than most who pass through these halls as a recruit. I was curious about how you would react; most would have conceded and walked away, but that isn’t what makes a soldier.”

John’s concerns were abated as the officer continued to speak. “The real reason you’re here is to discuss your military training. As you stated in the application, you believe you have biotic potential; this was also noted during your medical examination.”

“That’s correct” John replied, feeling relieved. He was still mad at Nolan; for all his accusations of pranks, it was ultimately Nolan who had pulled the prank.

“Can you state what your abilities have been thus far. We can’t take just anyone who has biotics. Just because you can lift a glass of water doesn’t mean your biotics are combat grade” stated Nolan.

“Almost a month ago, I was in a shootout, guns and everything. Near the end, I was shot. The man raised his gun and fired. It should have killed me, but a blue…shield, I guess you would call it, stopped the bullet” stated John.

“Permission to speak off the record, sir?” asked John.

“Permission granted” responded the officer.

“I don’t understand how, but when I got up, I kind of threw the energy at him. He hit some metal shelves and got buried under some crates. He’s probably dead right now” elaborated Marcus.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I heard the last part of what you said. Did you have an amp though? Using a biotic throw without one is rare, a biotic barrier is unheard of without it” Nolan inquired.

John smiled at Nolan’s first statement. He then formulated his response and replied, “No, I don’t have an amp, sir. I don’t know, I just got mad after having so many guns pointed at me.”

“I think you’ll make a perfect fit for our biotic program. However, your medical file also states you don’t have a translator implant. I’m assuming you will need those?”

* * *

"Ugggghhhhhh," sighed John as he slowly woke up on a hospital bed. After he opened his eyes, he immediately shut them again after being greeted by bright white lights. He felt a dull ache at the base of his skull; curious he moved his hand to the back of his head and felt a large bandage secured with medical adhesive tape. _I guess I’m done, then?_ He could hear the distinct sound of an EKG sounding about every second or so. With each beep, his head painfully pounded in sink. John, still groggy from the anesthesia, tried to sit up but his body refused to listen to his commands.

As he found himself struggling to sit up, a doctor dressed in a white coat with military looking fatigues on underneath walked in. "Welcome back to the land of the living. How are you feeling?" asked the doctor.

"Did it work?" John asked weakly.

"Your operation was a success. We were able to implant the interface with little difficulty. As a warning, don’t try to use your biotics until you get an amp. It can cause serious injury" instructed the doctor.

"Too late for that doc…should have told me that last month", replied John.

"Biotic use before the implant is exceedingly rare. Your scans came back fine, with no serious injury. We did detect slight inflammation, but that appears to be fading. If you follow instructions properly during training, injuries shouldn’t occur, and your current ones will heal," she assured him.

“What about the translator? I thought I was supposed to get one too?”

“Well, I’m speaking French; you speak English, so I am assuming it works” the doctor stated.

“When am I allowed out here again?" asked when John.

“You’re going to remain under monitoring for another two days, just to ensure you don’t have any negative reactions to all the implants you just got upgraded with.”

John inwardly groaned as he heard this. He did not like the idea of spending another two days trapped in here.

“While I know the news is devastating,” the doctor told him sarcastically, “some techs did deliver your omni-tool while you were out. It's on the table next to you. It’s standard military grade but you can use it as a personal omni-tool as well.”

As the doctor walked out of the room, he blindly groped for the box on the table next to him. Finally able to get the box, he placed it in his lap. Thankfully, he found the controls for the bed and started to adjust it so he was in a sitting position. He reached for the box and started to tear at the thin yet durable plastic. _We can travel the stars, but can’t figure out consumer packaging,_ he thought. After removing the plastic from around the box, he opened it. _Is this what Christmas feels like_ , he thought to himself, but quickly banished the thought of kids being riddled with military grade implants and equipment as a present.

After removing the omni-tool from its box, he turned it on. Instantly, a glowing orange shell encased his arm up to his elbow.

The orange shell formed a screen and haptic interface for typing. A screen popped up in front of him and read: “Welcome to the Polaris III omni-tool by Kassa Fabrications. Please sign in with your extranet account or make a new one.” Eager to get started, he tapped on the button that said new account.

After an exceedingly frustrating 25 minutes trying to make himself his first extranet account, he finally was welcomed to the home screen of the omni tool. A box flashed in the bottom right bottom corner of the device. When he moved his finger over it, it grew slightly larger and a little tag appeared next to it stating, ‘one unread message’. Clicking on it, a new page opened called ‘inbox’ with an almost devoid column down the middle of the screen, save for one message. Clicking on the message, he began to read.

From: [technologydepartment@alliance.extnet](mailto:technologydepartment@alliance.extnet)

TO: [jshepard561897@alliance.extnet](mailto:jshepard561897@alliance.extnet)

SUBJECT: Recruit training

_To whom it may concern,_

_Base command instructed us to send this message to you on their behalf._

_Since this is your first omni-tool, we have attached a number of guides and sources for you to aid you. Please feel free to contact us if any issues arise with your omni-tool._

_While you were not selected for having any technical training, you have been given an omnitool in order to complement standard communication protocols. Refer to the guides below on how to access the ‘My Alliance’ app; there, you will find your orders and assignments._

_You have been given two days leave while you recuperate in the hospital, after which you will report to Barrack 42 for biotic combat training._

As told in the message, he saw several documents and links pertaining to the functions of an omnitool, how to use it for communication, and how to find his assignments.

* * *

Downloading the ‘My Alliance’ app, John watched with intrigue and anticipation as he saw the white circle hovering over the icon complete itself. Seeing that the app had downloaded and installed, he opened it and read the many different tabs that had opened.

Seeing a tab for ‘Guides’ he clicked on it and a folder opened up. He saw three files in the folder: “Biotics in combat roles”, “A-Z of military protocol, and “Understanding humanities place in the galaxy”.

As he continued reading, he realized that he was expected to read the information. Deciding that he didn’t feel like reading about military protocol, he opened the handbook on ‘humanities place in the galaxy’ and began to read.

_Chapter 1: Overview_

_Humanities discover of Prothean ruins on Mars irreversibly changed humanities place and understanding in the galaxy. The development of space flight due to Element Zero based propulsion technologies have allowed for faster than light travel within the Sol system, as well as to the far corners of the Milky Way Galaxy. As soldiers of the alliance, it is critical to have a solid understanding of other races that inhabit the galaxy. Depending upon the location of your deployment or assignment, you may frequently see other alien races._

_While meeting aliens for the first time may be an unnerving experience, it is important that the Alliance keeps cordial relations with other races. As an arm of the Alliance, soldiers who meet and interact with other races can change the perception they may of us, and by extension, the rest of humanity._

_Communication plays an important role as alliance soldiers. Since you may be forced to interact with other races, modern translator software is capable of rendering alien speech understandable to you. As a note, it is important to remember that although you may of a translator and can understand them, each member of other races may not necessarily have one. While exceedingly rare, it is important in such instances to keep your composure. Further elaboration on speaking with aliens will be dealt with in later chapters of this guide._

_In this handbook, you will find chapters dedicated to each of the major races, council or otherwise. As a brief overview, the chart below contains a brief overview of each race, including main characteristics and general information. As alliance soldiers, it is recommended that you not only read this guide but keep the information in mind as you interact with other races. The knowledge contained herein can help you better perform your duties and avoid misunderstandings with other races in the field._

As John read the guide, he was genuinely intrigued but also a little upset. While he might have been curious about aliens, he only knew them best for two events. The First Contact War perpetrated by the Turians and the Raid of Mindoir by the Batarians. While the former may not have affected him directly, the latter had ruined his life from before he could even remember. Scrolling down the page, he stopped on the chart that had been mentioned. Each race had a column, with a picture at the top and basic information attached below.

He saw a picture of a Turian soldier standing proud. Although he was curious about the strange colored markings on the Turian’s face, he decided to move onto the next photo. John was truly shocked about what he saw; it appeared to be a photo of a human woman’s face except her skin was blue and she didn’t have any hair. Intrigued about the alien species that looked almost human, he read the information in the column, discovering that they were called “Asari” and were the first space fairing race. Moving to the next one, John saw what could best be described as a reptilian creature. As he continued, he noted several other races, some of which he had never heard or seen photos of before, such as the Hanar, Elcor, Krogan, and Salarians. The photos provided for two of the races, the Quarians and Volus, initially confused him as he couldn’t see their face. However, as he read into their descriptions, he discovered that they had to permanently live suits to survive while not on their homeworlds. Reading further, he discovered that the Quarians didn’t even have a homeworld anymore and lived on a fleet of ships.

As John continued to read, he felt his eyes slowly get heavy and eventually shut. However, in his sleep, he could only think of the face that he had burned into his mind: **Batarians,** the race that had taken everything from him. The four eyes he had seen in the picture had burrowed into his soul, filling him with emotions of anger and hate.

Revenge. He knew that if he ever had to fight a Batarian, he would kill them without mercy and make their death painful. _That would be a person I would kill without hesitation_ , his mind told itself. In his sleep, he was haunted by that face, the face that had taken everything from him. His nightmares were comforted by the hope that he could one day avenge the parents, the family, that he had never gotten to know.


	3. Sole Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard's eagerness for combat turns into regret as he faces his first trial by "fire".

Chapter 3: Sole Survivor

AUTHORS NOTE: This is probably going to be the first chapter of a 3-chapter ark that will shape Shepard's personality (for the better or worse). Also, if anyone is wondering, Shepard is not going to be an adept, but a Vanguard kind of character. However, don't be surprised if he whips out a sniper rifle sometimes, they are my favorite weapon to use in Mass Effect. Please leave a comment; criticism helps, and they are very motivational.

(2 years after the last chapter)

John had recently been assigned to the Icarus 3 months ago. John was initially intrigued about serving on a warship. He had always assumed that training in the army meant that he would mostly be stationed at military bases but had been surprised when he was assigned to a frigate's infantry division. As it turned out, warships frequently carried troops for rapid deployment into combat situations; if ships had to pick up soldiers before heading off to defend colonies, it would have taken too long.

After he had completed basic military training, which had taken 6 months, he then trained for 15 months in the Alliance's biotics program. Because John had gotten the biotic implant and started training later than most, it had taken him some extra time to complete his training. Usually, biotically gifted individuals were implanted during puberty for the best results; those who were implanted as adults tended to have limited biotic potential. However, as John was still on the younger side when he was implanted, he had been able to retain most of his biotic potential. Even if he was "behind" in being implanted, John still turned out to be powerful. When he graduated from the biotic camp, his instructors had noted him as one of the best they had ever seen; "makes me wonder what you could have been if you were implanted younger," they had told him.

Now, John currently sat on the mess deck, eating military rations for lunch. While John had easier access to more nutritious foods than when he lived on the streets, he still kind of missed it. The simplicity and taste of a slice of New York-style pizza for one credit, the savory flavors of Lo Mein from the Chinese takeout place down the block, or the crispiness of fried chicken all would have been preferred to the food that he forced himself to swallow. John sat there contemplating this irony as he finished his plate of rice and beans; unfortunately for him and the rest of the crew, the rice was dry, and the beans were a tasteless mass of brown goo.

"ALL GROUND PERSONNEL, PLEASE REPORT TO THE CARGO DECK" roared the load speaker on the mess deck. John was almost finished eating lunch and felt reluctant at the prospect of having to go on a mission so soon afterward. He wasn't sure if he would be able to keep his lunch down on a mission since he was barely able to do so on the ship. Nevertheless, he got up from his table, disposed of his trash, and proceeded towards the ship's elevator. Several other marines on this deck also stood next to the elevator's doors, waiting for them to open. John watched the tiny electronic sign at the top righthand side of the elevator change numbers as it went down towards them. When the doors opened, John was presented with an elevator packed to the brim with marines. More like sardines, he thought and decided to wait for the next elevator.

When the elevator returned, John and remaining marines entered and pressed the button on the holo-interface for the Cargo Deck. When the elevator doors opened, he walked out and entered the bay. The dim lights reflected meekly off the three shuttles that hung suspended off to one side and the other side of the deck's wall was lined with equipment lockers for the soldiers. John could see a group of marines gathering near the center of the cargo bay and approached them. As he walked closer, he could hear small snippets of conversation being whispered between the soldiers, mostly speculation about what the mission might be.

Within a few minutes, the Captain of the Icarus, Jaques Lacan, stood before the assembled marines and began to speak. "Alliance brass has a new mission for us. A new colony world, Azuke, recently dropped all communications for several days. Our job is to go down, secure the site, investigate it, and determine what happened. Once on the ground, you'll be taking orders from Commander Allman. We'll be arriving on the colony within three hours, so equip your armor, weapons, and gear. For all we might now, it could be the Batarians again, so you need to be ready for firefights."

Batarians… thought John. While before he might have been reluctant to go on what seemed to be a simple recon mission before, a chance to face his personal enemy seemed too good to pass up. While John had been sent on 5 or 6 different mission while on the Icarus, they had mostly been mundane. They usually consisted of guarding important cargo while they transported it to the ship; on the last mission, he could have sworn that was a piece of Prothean technology, but he didn't know for sure. John hadn't seen any real combat yet, and the mention of Batarians excited him. A chance to kill some aliens and use his itchy trigger finger…

* * *

John heard the roar of the shuttle's engines as it flew out of the Icarus' bay doors. John sat next to another 5 marines on his side of the shuttle, while another 6 sat on the opposing side. Listening to the comms chatter of the marines that were already on the ground from the first shuttle trip, John could hear the confusion in their voices as they were greeted to an empty colony.

John gripped the assault rifle in his hands. Hearing that the colony was empty made it almost certain that the marines would find a fight on the ground at some point. John was eager to finally use his biotics. The most he had used his biotics for during the last few months was moving cargo containers or doing stupid stunts with the other marines that tended to result in minor injuries. Mostly.

"Toombs, you know anything about what's happening down there?" asked John.

"Only what's on the comms, man. Sounds creepy though. Thirty credits say it's slavers," responded Toombs.

"Deal, but don't you feel bad betting on how people died?"

"Why should we care. If the colonists are dead or missing, bets are the least of their worries," interjected a marine named Alvarez.

"Does that mean you're betting as well?" asked Shepard.

"Why not," Alvarez replied.

As the pilot listened to the soldiers' conversation, he laughed quietly and slowly shook his head. Seeing that the shuttle was almost at the colony, he turned his head around and spoke into the cabin. "Listen up, we're a minute from the drop point so secure your gear and be prepared to head out."

"Roger that Emerson" responded Toombs.

As the shuttle's descent slowed and eventually crawled to a halt, the pilot set the shuttle down on a patch of grass and opened the doors. "You're clear to go. Hurry up too, I have another 3 trips to make and I don't want the Captain to be mad at me."

"Just be thankful you don't do any of the fighting Emerson, you get to sit safely in your shuttle," Shepard responded.

"I'll remember that when we have to fly over a combat zone and you better hope I'm a good pilot if you don't want to get shot down. Have you ever seen combat, Shepard?"

"Nope. That's why this mission is going to be fun," John replied as he ducked his head to avoid the shuttles doorframe onto the grass field. Gazing towards the colony, he could see the red-orange sun setting behind a cluster of prehab structures. Looking around and feeling the wind blow against his face, John thought the colony was beautiful. Having grown up in the city for most of his life, he was used to smelling the foul and stench ridden air of the city; after he had joined the military, he had spent most of his time in training facilities, space stations, or starships. As John and his squad walked towards the colony, John savored the sweet smell of the crisp fresh air. So, this is what real nature looks like. Reminds me of the photos of Mindoir on the extranet, John told himself as he admired the beauty around him.

John's admiration of the landscape around him was quickly cut short as his suits' radio sounded. "Charlie squad, this is Commander Allman. Over?"

"Loud and clear, sir," responded Shepard.

"Take your squad and check the south side of the colony. Alpha and Bravo are searching the northern and western sides as we speak. Keep your eyes peeled for people or clues, maybe they can explain what happened here" responded Allman.

"Roger that" Shepard replied before turning to the 5 other men. "Charlie, we're headed south. Check the buildings we come across for any signs of what happened."

"Affirmative, right behind you" replied Alvarez, and the rest of the squad feel into line behind Shepard. As they walked towards the south of the colony, they eventually hit a dirt road. With each step, their boots became coated in sticky-wet mud, making each step more difficult than the last. By the time they reached the prefabs, their feet sank ankle-deep into the mud, slowing their progress significantly.

"Allman didn't say we would be needing swamp gear. The fuck is the ground like this?" asked Toombs.

"If we are going to end up fighting, walking through the fields is a bad idea. Think we can secure a truck or something?" asked Alvarez.

"Affirmative, if you can find one. Just make sure to check it over before you take it. But our first priority is checking these prefabs. Over?" responded John.

"Copy, moving out."

Shepard's squad dispersed, each heading into a different part of the colony. Shepard approached a building off to his left and tried to open the door. Seeing that it was locked, he unholstered his pistol and fired two shots into the locking mechanism. "Shepard was that you? Over," inquired Toombs over comms.

"Ya, just shooting the lock off so I can get in. Find anything yet guys?"

"I see some dried blood over here, but no bodies. Somebody definitely attacked the colony, but who would want to do this?" responded Boyle, another man on his team.

"I don't know Boyle but stay on guard. They could still be here for all we know."

John looked around the room and his attention immediately came to the shattered glass table that sat in the middle. A bookshelf on the other side of the room was also toppled, its contents scattered all over the floor. There was definitely a fight here, John told himself. Deciding he would rather be armed for close-range fighting while in the building, he holstered his pistol and reached for the Scimitar shotgun on his back, extending the weapon in one smooth motion as he held it in his hands.

John searched the two other adjacent rooms but found nothing. Turning back around, he exited the prefab and started walking back onto the main road. "Anyone check that big garage over there?" asked John over the radio.

"Nah, not yet. I thought you said first priority is searching the colony, not transport" replied Alvarez.

"It still is, but clues can be in there. I'll check it out and see if there is a vehicle too, maybe you'll stop whining like an Asari being manhandled" rebutted John.

"Roger, tell me if you find a Hammerhead, always wanted to ride in one of those."

"Maybe if you shut up an do your job, we can get out of here sometime today" stated John. By the time he had finished conversing with the other soldiers over the comm, John had arrived at the front of the garage. It was a two-story structure, with two corrugated metal gates in the front. The upper level jutted out over the lower level, casting a shadow over John as he approached the building. As he looked up, he could see blood splatter on some of the windows and a hole in another from what John assumed was a bullet. Releasing one of his hands from the shotgun, he reached towards a door at one side of the complex and pulled on it. Seeing that it hadn't budged, John aimed his shotgun at it and fired. Reaching for the handle again, he was surprised when the door remained locked.

"Lockner, I got a door locked over here. Think you can hack it, I think it might be important" inquired John.

"Affirmative. Just link your omnitool to the doors lock and allow me access. I'll see if I can hack in. Over?" replied Lockner, the team's technical expert.

"Done. How long is this going to take?" asked John.

Seconds dragged by as John waited for a reply on the comm. Annoyed that Lockner still hadn't answered his question, he was about to yell at him over the comm when Lockner spoke. "Doors all yours. You have access to open the garage doors as well from your omnitool."

"Thanks. I'll let you know what I find."

"Really, you should just learn how to use some basic tech programs. Then you wouldn't be asking me to hack every door we come across."

"I don't want to, nor do I have to. That's why we have you. No get back to it" John ordered as he opened the controls on his omnitool. Still getting used to having a personal computer even after two years, John navigated its interface slowly until he found the options that controlled the buildings security locks. John decided to start raising the garage doors and tapped the icon that appeared to open them. I hope I hit the right one. The last thing I need is Lockner roasting me over the comms for being so bad with tech. He really needs to keep his mouth shut some…times…

John's thoughts were interrupted as the garage door started to raise itself. Even before he could see anything, the smell hit him like a semi-truck. The smell of rotting flesh and dead bodies overwhelmed him, and he almost vomited his lunch from earlier. As the garage doors continued to rise higher, the sunlight was able to enter the garage and illuminated it. The sight that greeted John's eyes was horrific. Bodies were piled one on top of another in several massive mounds. Some of the bodies had already begun to rot as denoted by the greenish tint on their arms and legs.

John, utterly shocked at the sight before him, stood frozen. After a few seconds, he regained his composure and called over the comms again to his squad. "Guys… I think I found the… colonists. Come to my location ASAP" instructed John.

"Copy that, 1 minute out" replied Toombs.

"Are they alive? Shepard, what happened?" questioned Alvarez.

"Just get your ass over here now! We are in way over our head" replied John, angrily.

Deciding to inform Allman as well, he requested a comm link to the commander. After a few seconds, he heard a voice over the comm state "Commander Allman, over?"

"This is Shepard with Charlie squad. I think I found some of the colonists. Sir, their dead. You might want to take a look at this."

"Roger, I'll head over with Delta squad. We're a click out from your position, so hold one. Any hostiles?"

"None so far sir. Just bodies; piles of them. Men, women, and children. Who could have done this, sir?"

"Not sure but sit tight. I'll be over there soon."

As John finished his conversation with Allman, he could hear the distinct squishing sound of several boots through the mud. Turning around swiftly and raising his shotgun, he was relieved to know that it was only the soldiers of Charlie squad.

"Holy shit. Man, what could have done this?" asked Alvarez.

"I don't know. It's really scaring the shit out of me. I think I see some bodies of kids… this was definitely an attack, Shepard."

As John heard the banter behind him, he began to walk forward slowly. With each step, the revolting smell of rotting flesh intensified. As he reached the garage's door frame, he could make out individual bullet wounds on each of the bodies. Most had been shot in the center of the forehead. Whoever did this executed them. But why? The colony didn't appear to be missing anything, so this wasn't a pirate raid, and the number of bodies in front of me is almost the entire colony, which means it wasn't slavers. Who did this, and why?

John pondered these thoughts as the men of Charlie squad could do nothing more than stare at the pile of bodies before them.

* * *

"How the fuck did they pack a taco into an MRE ration. That doesn't even make any sense" asked Lockner as he looked at Toombs' dinner. Toombs was desperately trying to construct the tacos that had been packed in his MRE, but the attempt was futile. The taco shells were way too soft, and Toombs ended up rolling the shell around the meat filling into a burrito. As he bit into the burrito-taco hybrid, he slowly started to chew and almost gagged. The meat filling was coated in disgusting gelatin and tasted bland; these traits were only exemplified by the coldness of the ration, solidifying the gelatin even more. Unable to swallow the ungodly mass, Toombs got up and walked out the door, spitting his food out in the process. Returning, he replied to Lockners' question; "Because that thing is NOT a taco. It's not even food!"

The men of Charlie squad all laughed in a rancorous fashion. Eager to forget the day's horrors, they looked for any means of distraction, including a good laugh or two. Allman had given them the night off and assigned another squad to stay up first watch, much to Charlie squads' relief. They now sat in a prefab building near the center of the colony, eating their dinners, and trying to relax.

"Well, I'm going to occupy that couch in the other room. Better catch some shut-eye before Allman has us patrol the colony again" John told the others as he got up and started walking.

"Let us know if the tooth fairy visits you" hollered Alvarez. Shaking his head, but with a smile on his face all the same, he walked through the doorway and into the adjacent room. Spotting the couch he saw earlier, he collapsed onto it and put his feet up, eager to rest after the long day. John put his hands behind his head and tried to block out the sounds of the men in the other room, still horsing around.

Despite the noise, his eyes were heavy, and he started falling asleep. As his body and mind sat on the edge of consciousness, his eyes suddenly snapped open at the echoing sound of a high powered rifle going off. Sitting up, he could hear his comm unit beeping relentlessly with an urgent message. John got up and sprinted quickly into the other room while activating his comms at the same time. "Shepard here with Charlie Squad, what's the situation? We just heard shots. Over?" inquired John.

The comm stayed silent for a few seconds, and John looked at the men of Charlie squad, already gearing up and equipping weapons, nervousness in the air. The jovial attitude from a few minutes ago was replaced by anxiety and fear. Suddenly, John got a response on his comm channel. "Allman here. A massive worm just came out of the ground," the commander had tried to say, but his words were cut off by the crescendo of assault gunfire and shotgun blasts. "It ate half of Bravo in one attack. We are trying to retreat back to the heart of the colony, but we're pinned."

"Tell us where you are, we can lay down suppressing fire. We're further back than you are" John responded.

"That's a negative. Our orbital communications are blocked and we can't contact the Icarus for backup or rescue. The Icarus can't even identify our location right now. We'll hold these things off while you guys…" his response was cut off by the primeval roar that sounded over the comms.

Looking at the floor for the second before speaking, he turned to his men. "Guys, Allman and the other marines are under attack by some kind of creature. Our orders are to get communications back online and contact the Icarus, probably for air support and rescue" ordered John.

"Loud and clear, Shepard. Why can't we contact the ship though?" asked Toombs. Everyone's eyes turned to Lockner; "I don't fucking know, why is everyone looking at me? I didn't do this" he responded.

"We're not asking if you did this. We're asking you if you can figure out how to get communications back up, you ass. They're dying as we speak" replied Shepard harshly.

"Ya, alright. I'll look into it" Lockner replied with slight remorse in his voice. He looked down at his omnitool and began opening applications and tools that John could never begin to decipher. John and the rest of Charlie squad stood around in anticipation, desperately wanting to resolve the problem and save their friends out there.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lockner spoke up. "Um… our signal is getting disrupted by a signal jammer. That's why we can't contact the ship" Lockner told the men.

"Well, how do we fix it" inquired John, annoyance percolating his voice.

"We need to find the jammer and disable it" replied Lockner. Anticipating John's next question, he started typing furiously on his omnitool before looking back up. "I think I found its location. My omnitool says that the jammer is…it's in the south of the colony, where we were earlier."

Upon hearing this, John started walking out of the prefab and order his men: "Charlie squad, you heard Lockner. On the double, lives are counting on us." As John and his men started running through the crisp air of the night, they could hear the sounds of screams and gunfire off in the distance.

Retracing their steps from earlier in the day, they followed the muddy road towards the south. However, unlike earlier in the afternoon when the mud was nothing more than an annoyance, every second it slowed them down now meant more casualties that they would have to carry the weight of on their shoulders. Seeing a familiar bend in the road, John could tell that they were still three-quarters of a click out from the signal jammer. John became frustrated as each step he took sank his feet into the mud; while hoping to reach the location faster by running, the increased force of each step meant that their feet sunk into the mud even more, slowing down their progress and tiring them quickly.

As they ran, tiring out ever so slowly, John could hear the distinct roar of the animal he had heard before. However, the loudness of the sound meant that this specific animal was much closer than he would have preferred.

"Fuck…that…thing…sounds…like…a…bitch…to…fight…" Toombs had tried to say between his rapid breaths.

"Just…keep…running…we are almost…there" John replied back, gasping for air. The thresher maw made them run with increased determination; not only were other soldiers' lives on the line, but it was after them now and they were stuck in the mud. John shuddered at the thought; if that thing attacks us while we are running in this mud, we are as good as dead.

The ground beneath them began to shake causing some of the men to lose their footing in the soil. The earthquake increased in intensity as the marines tried to keep their pace until the ground in front of them exploded, sending dirt and rocks flying into the air. A massive, wormlike creature sprung out of the ground, sending John and most of the men flying backward…except one. The creature had caught the man's leg in its jaw and dragged him into the air with it. Before John could equip his shotgun, the maw threw the man into the air, his desperate screams echoing to the men down below. The world turned into slow motion as John watched the man go up into the air, slow down and eventually stop at his apex, and then start falling back to the ground. The creature opened its mouth and the man's screams were cut short as he fell into its throat.

John and the other marines started firing at the creature, unloading round after round as it roared at them. The marines could see the rounds chip off small pieces of the chitinous armor that covered its body, but it was a futile attempt. "We need to get the fuck out of here…forget the jammer. If we leave the colony, maybe it won't follow" Alvarez screamed over the sound of weapons fire.

"Fuck that, it's a negative. Allman and the others are counting on us" replied John.

"Fuck this" Alvarez said and started to run away from the creature.

"Alvarez, get your ass back here" John had tried to say as he turned his head towards Alvarez. But in the corner of his eye, he saw a green mass moving towards him and he rolled out of the way. Alvarez, running away from the maw, wasn't so lucky. The green mass of liquid hit Alvarez and coated him. Immediately, he started to scream in agony as John could hear the sound of sizzling. The maw retreated back underground from the hole that it came from as the men tried to get their overheated weapons to fire at its retreating form. Turning back towards Alvarez, he noticed that the man had stopped screaming. Fountains of blood mixed into the green slime that slowly spread on the ground, turning into a brownish sort of color. His body dissolved…that's fucking acid, John thought to himself in horror.

"Shepard" Toombs called, "what the hell do we do now. They just killed Jackson and Alvarez."

"We follow our orders, we finish the mission," John said. The determination he imbued in his tone, however, was almost non-existent in his mind. We're all going to fucking die tonight.

"Maybe Alvarez was right. Now that it's gone, we can hide from it, save ourselves" asked Lockner.

Bending over and placing his hands on his knees, John took a couple of good breaths. Turning his head as he panted, he looked over what was left of Alvarez's body. He couldn't even make out the shape of a body anymore, it was just a puddle of green and red ooze. "Negative…that's not an option."

John stood up and ordered his remaining men. "We have a job to do. If we don't get any backup or rescue, we might die here tonight too. Contacting the Icarus is our best bet."

Still in shock over watching the loss of their friends in a matter of seconds, the soldiers started marching in the direction of the buildings again. As they neared the structures they had been to earlier, John looked to Lockner and asked: "Do you know which building it's in?"

Lockner held up his omnitool and started scanning the area. Eventually, his arm pointed in a certain direction and he said: "over there." Looking up, Lockner saw that the building was the garage with the bodies that they had found earlier. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. Somebody is definitely behind this; they must have attacked the colonists and left that jammer" said Toombs.

"Agreed," said John. "Let's get to that building and turn it off, I'll check on Allman on the way."

"Roger that, moving out" replied Tombs.

As the group started sprinting towards the garage, Shepard opened his comms again. "Allman, you there? We're almost at the jammer, just hold in." Seconds dragged by as Shepard waited for the response that never came. Switching his comms to different squad channels, he tried communications again only to be met by static. "Guys, we need to hurry up. Allman isn't responding, and neither are…"

John's statement was suddenly cut short as he heard the crack of a sniper rifle, and the head of the man that ran in front of him exploded, showering him in gore. "Double time it, sniper is on us," John said. The men tried to stay low as they ran even faster towards the garage complex. As they neared the entrance, the sniper rifle fired again and hit Toombs in the back of his chest. Toombs crumpled to the ground and blood began to slowly pool out of him.

Lockner was at the door, but it wouldn't open. They had decided to lock it again to prevent any animals or people from disturbing the corpses, but it was now slowing their entrance. Silently cursing himself, he tried to take cover behind some scattered crates as Lockner brought up the door controls from earlier. "Got it," Lockner told Shepard, and they both began to sprint for the door in the hopes of avoiding the sniper. Unfortunately, Lockner wasn't so lucky, and the boom of the rifle echoed as Lockner collapsed to the ground, trying to hold the contemts of his stomach from spilling out from the large bullet hole.

"Go, Shepard" Lockner screamed through gritted teeth. Shepard surrounded himself in a biotic barrier as he rushed through the door, throwing himself to the side as he tumbled over the dead bodies on the floor. The rifle fired again just as John hit the floor to the left, narrowly missing the bullet. Instead of striking John, the bullet hit one of the bodies in the room, coating him in rotting guts. I need to get comms back up, for Toombs and Lockner, John said to himself as he got up. The room was pitch black, as the lights were turned off, and he pulled up his omnitool to turn on the built-in flashlight. The beady eyes of the dead starred back at him in the darkness, but John didn't let that phase him. If he could contact the Icarus for backup, maybe he could save Toombs and Lockner. John carefully stepped over the already dead bodies as the strong smell almost made him vomit; eventually, he just held his breath until he reached the staircase at the back of the garage and took the steps two at a time.

John entered the second story, and seeing windows across the room, instantly dropped to the floor just as a bullet hit the wall where his head had been. Where the fuck is the jammer; even if I find it, how do I disable it. "Lockner" Shepard asked quietly over the comm, "I'm in the building, how do I find the jammer? How do I turn it off?"

"Shepard…[cough]…it should look like a box…with…[cough]…several antennae on it. Just break the thing. Hurry…[cough]…up Shepard, please. There are men down here, they just dragged Toombs' body away. I think they might find me behind these…[cough]…crates" Toombs replied.

"Just hold on man. I'll get this jammer, call the Icarus, and we'll be drinking those beers you smuggled onboard in no time" John replied, trying to reassure him.

Crawling on his hands and knees to avoid being seen through the window, he looked around. The room on the second story of the building appeared to be somebodies living quarters, as John noted an empty sleeping mat at one corner. Must have been where the mechanic slept. Scanning the room, John's eyes were immediately caught by the 4-foot tall box in the left corner; antennae too, just like Lockner said. Activating his biotics, he tried to lift the box off of the ground to little effect. It must be bolted down strong, John thought. Wanting to end this here and now, John reached for the shotgun attached to his back and extended it. Setting the shotgun to fire a concussive blast, he took aim at the box and fired. The orange-red fireball hit the box, sending shrapnel through the air. Before John could react, a metal component struck him in the side of the head and knocked him out.

John now lay there, on the floor, helpless to any thresher maws or men that attacked him.


	4. Metamorphosis

John awoke with his head in a haze. He brought his hands up to cradle his head through the helmet and felt blood slowly trickling out. As he brushed his hands over the area, he realized a small piece of metal from the explosion must have punctured his helmet and cut him. Trying to sit up, he noticed it was still night outside, meaning he couldn’t have been out for too long. Suddenly, John heard the sound of a door opening on the first floor. Standing up, he picked up his shotgun from the floor and aimed it at the stairway. As the seconds dragged by, he could hear the conversation from the men gradually get louder as they neared the staircase.

"…the guy is definitely seriously injured or dead. I swear I saw a massive explosion up here when I looked through his scope. Trust me, it's going to be fine. Last one too, all the others are dead. The best part is they already have enough bodies, so we don’t need to carry him back to the shuttle" said a voice with a thick British accent.

As the figures approached the stairs and started climbing up, John pondered what they had just said. _They must be the ones behind this. This was not random. But why do they need bodies? Shit, that must have been why Lockner saw them drag Toombs' body away._ The thought of these bastards dragging the bodies of his friends through the mud and killing fellow soldiers filled John with rage, igniting the blue aura of biotics around him.

Upon hearing the sound, the men climbing up the stairs stopped and unholstered their weapons, looking at each other nervously. When they looked back towards the top of the stairs, John was already there and had hurled a sphere of biotic energy into the men, sending them tumbling down the staircase and knocking the weapons from their hands. One of the soldiers hit his head on the floor and lie still. The other, noticing his weapon was too far away, tried reaching for the pistol at his hip. _Too late,_ John thought as he leveled his shotgun at the man and fired three times as he climbed down the stairs. As John reached the bottom of the stairs, he aimed his shotgun at the head of the man at point-blank and pulled the trigger; the man's face exploded into bits and pieces, coating John in even more gore.

Holstering his shotgun, he bent down to picked up the other man, slamming him into the wall. "Tell me who the fuck you are, and what the hell you're doing here" John screamed at the man. His blood boiled, eagerly anticipating the answer so he could at least hear the justification for tonight's massacre. The other man was trying to come to his senses, still recovering from hitting his head on the ground. "I am not telling you anything, asshole" replied the man as he head-butted John. Unfortunately, the man hadn't thought it through, as he wasn’t wearing a helmet. The man's head crashed into John's armored helmet to little effect, only serving to further incapacitate him. The headbutt had jarred John's head injury, however, filling him with more adrenaline and rage. He tossed the man back onto the floor. "Fuck you, asshole," John said quietly as he raised his leg and brought his heavy boot back down onto the man's head. The first stomp did little damage, but by the fourth, the man's head had cracked open like a watermelon and his smashed brain oozed blood onto the floor.

The threats killed, John took time to properly examine the bodies now. He noticed they were wearing high-grade spec-ops army, coated midnight black. As he surveyed the limp and broken bodies on the floor, he remembered why he was in this building in the first place _. The comms_. Opening his channel, he hailed the ship _; "Icarus,_ are you there, over? _"_

"Affirmative. What the hell is going on down there? You guys went dark a couple of hours ago and we can't reach Allman or anyone else" a nervous comm operator responded.

"We were attacked by fucking worms…the rest of the platoon is probably dead or dying. We need immediate support from gunships and heavy weapons. Do you copy?"

"This is Captain Lacan. I need a sit-rep now, soldier" replied a gruff voice.

"T-t-they came out from the ground and started attacking the platoon. Our comms to you were jammed, so Allman sent us to disable the jammer. But sir, we were attacked by soldiers" Shepard answered.

"Sit tight, we are sending a shuttle with some remaining soldiers to evac you and the survivors," said Lacan.

"Sir, there are no survivors" replied Shepard somberly. I…I think I am the last one. I've tried reaching Allman and other teams, but their comms are dead. Over…"

"Repeat, what did you say?" inquired the captain.

"Sir, there is no one left. They are either dead or…abducted. The men I killed talked about taking their bodies."

"Then…then that's all the more reason we need you. Only you can tell us what happened. I'm sending a shuttle to your coordinates now, ETA 10 minutes. Copy?"

"Affirmative, sir. I'll see if I can find any other Alliance marines, though" replied Shepard.

"That's a negative. If they were alive, they would have contacted us by now. We can't risk our only source of intel on what happened down there."

"But…"

"That's an ORDER soldier. Stay put" ordered Lacan.

"Yes…yes, sir. Understood sir" replied John with shame in his voice. He wanted to run into the field in kill every last killer-worm and operative out there, but he knew he couldn’t win. Sighing with defeat, he turned back to the dead bodies below him. Somehow, the sight of those bodies being turned into a pulp made John satisfied, almost in a sadistic way. He glanced to one of the bodies, noticing an odd sniper rifle; upon further examination, he realized that it was a heavily modded Mantis rifle with a thermal scope. _That's how he shot us in the dark,_ John told himself glumly. _Maybe if I listened to Alvarez, they would have lived. They died because I pushed them. I should have been more vigilante…_

Suddenly, John heard shouting from outside. Turning his head, he realized it was coming from the door that was now left ajar from the two previous soldiers. "Riley, Bigs, where the hell are you guys. The guy is dead already, what is taking you." John silently chuckled to himself as he turned off the light on his omnitool and stepped over the dead bodies, making his way towards the door. He made himself flush with the wall where the door was at, standing a couple of feet to the door's left. He held his assault rifle in his hands and pointed it at the door.

The soldier walked in, oblivious to John's presence. Because John was against the wall on the door's left, he was practically invisible in the dark room. However, light reflected off of the soldier from the door he had just walked through. The soldier activated his omnitool, probably trying to turn on his flashlight, as he called out again. "Guys, this isn't funny. We need to be out of here soon. The alliance cruiser in orbit is about to become an issue, and we need to leave in the shuttles asap."

Before he could become suspicious about why he hadn't heard a response, John took action. He leaped at the soldier and slammed into him with added biotic force, sending him tumbling to the floor. John now stood over the man and shot him twice in the stomach. Using his biotics again, he lifted the man off the floor like a ragdoll and slammed him into the wall. John held him there with his biotics as he marched his way towards the man.

"I'm only going to ask this once. Who the fuck are you and why did you do this?"

"Just…orders…man," the soldier struggled to say as Shepard's biotics pressed into him, slowly crushing his chest. John smashed the butt of his rifle into the man's jaw, knocking teeth out and causing blood to spill to the floor.

"Who's? Why are you taking dead bodies?" Shepard spat.

"Who saith thath they're dead?" responded the marine as he tried to speak with his shattered mouth.

"What?" Shepard responded, unsure of what to think of this sudden revelation. If what he said was true, Toombs' and some others could still be alive, waiting for him to rescue them. At John's desperate but simple question, the man started to laugh and more blood spilled out in the process. "Tell me what the hell is so funny, or so help me god I'll blow your brains out like your buddies over there" threatened John.

"You…are too late. They…already…know about you now. I told them to leave before your stupid Alliance came" he responded.

"Impossible. You're not getting out of this, asshole" John emphasized as he held his arm against the man's throat.

"No wonder you alliance types got slaughtered last night" replied the man as he lifted the hand that had held his omnitool. Enraged that he had let the man slip a message to his allies without him noticing, he raised his rifle, holding down the trigger. At point-blank, the bullets tore through the armor like cottage cheese. John released the man from his biotic hold, letting him slide to the floor against the wall at his back. Blood ran freely from the numerous holes in his chest plate, as well as slowly trickling from his mouth.

As soon as the man hit the floor, John realized his mistake. He had just killed his only source of information on his enemy. He had let his anger take control of him, but from where such ferocity came, he didn’t know. All he knew is that these assholes were responsible and he was going to make them die in pain. Killing the people who murdered his unit felt…good.

But his enjoyment of watching the dead body bleed out in front of him was cut short as he realized that the -others might still be alive. The only problem was he didn’t know where they were. " _Icarus,_ I need immediate air support. Their shuttles are about to leave, and they have some of our guys" Shepard called over the comms desperately.

"Negative, Shepard. Our shuttles aren't equipped for air-to-air" replied Lacan.

"You have a cruiser! Do something, they have our guys" Shepard screamed into the comm.

"I'm not risking the rest of my men to shot down one shuttle!" roared back the Captain. "Besides, our sensors have been unable to pick them up, we couldn’t even shoot them down if we wanted to."

"Under…understood sir" replied Shepard. But John knew one thing: that he was going to get himself out of here today and find the people who took his squad from him, no matter the cost.

Walking towards the bodies of the other dead soldiers, he reached down and picked up the Mantis rifle, experimentally looking down the sights to make sure they worked. He collapsed the rifle and put it on his back before climbing back up the stairs to the second story. Walking up to the window in a crouched position, he could see some commotion off in the distance, but his elevation was still too low to make a clean shot. He realized that if he could get onto the roof of the building, he might be able to pick off the soldiers, or maybe disable a shuttle.

Considering that there were no stairs up to the roof, he would need to climb outside the window and hall himself up. John punched the glass with a biotically incased fist, sending shards flying out the window. He jumped up and put one foot on the windowsill. He pushed his other foot off the ground, and as he rose up, almost outside the window, he reached one of his hands outside the window to grab at something, anything, that could be used to hall himself onto the roof. His other hand pushed against the inside of the wall next to the window, holding him in place as he searched. John was precariously balanced and almost lost his footing when his hand found the edge of the roof. Bringing his other hand out from inside the window, he started to pull himself up with both arms.

As John tried to pull himself up, the effects of the long night began to take its toll. His arms struggled to raise his heavy form to the roof and his fingers were gradually sliding off of the edge. But with determination, John swung his leg onto the roof. As he pulled the rest of his body over, he looked over the edge, realizing how close he came to dropping two stories. Taking his new sniper off of his back, he lowered himself onto the ground and brought the scope to his eye. Looking through the scope, John could see a shuttle taking off. John could also see other soldiers, in similar black armor, walking towards a group of shuttles. John focused on one of the men, lined up the sight, and held his breath. Pulling on the trigger, the rifle issued a loud crack and a second later the man was hit in the chest and falling to the ground.

As soon as the rifle sounded, the rest of the soldiers started running towards the remaining shuttles. Realizing that they were fleeing, John grew desperate, afraid of letting the last shuttle leave; for all he knew, the shuttle could have Toombs' body or any other soldiers'. He quickly lined up his sniper on another figure and pulled the trigger, hitting him in the head. John tried to fire on another target that was entering the shuttle, but his overheated rifle refused to obey, its muzzle glowing a dull orange. John watched the door on the shuttle close, helpless to stop it. Its engines powered up and it started to take off. _No, no, no…_ John thought. His rifle again able to fire, he took a shot at one of the shuttle's engines, but its shielding absorbed the incoming fire. The shuttle started rapidly gaining speed and climbed into the sky. John desperately took another shot, hoping by some miracle to bring the shuttle down. Pulling the trigger again, the shot went wide as he was simply too far away to hit such a fast-moving target. John stood up from the roof, watching the light from the shuttle's engines gradually dim and eventually wink out.

He had failed. John couldn’t save the closest thing he had to a family so far. Their lives depended on him; he had gotten them killed and couldn’t save the others. In a fit of rage, John jumped down from the roof, incasing himself in biotic energy to slow his descent, and landed with an explosion of blue force around him. He turned towards the building that had been the bane of this mission; it held the killed colonists, the signal jammer, and had been the place where he had failed his men. John took the sniper rifle and held it with both hands by the barrel, almost like a bat. Heaving it over his head, he smacked it into the wall of the building. And then he smacked it again. And again. And again, until the barrel was bent and cracked, and the optical scope smashed into little bits of electronics. Tossing the ruined weapon to the side, he smashed his fists into the wall, letting loose a guttural, almost animalistic scream.

The shuttle had arrived soon after, hovering a foot off of the ground in the middle of the street, waiting for John to enter. John leaped up to the shuttle's floor and walked in. In the cockpit, he could see Emerson, the pilot that had first dropped him off.

"Shepard, is there no one else? I can't…how are they all dead?" asked Emerson, almost in shock. Hearing the news over the comm was one thing, but to only pick up one soldier the day after he had dropped off dozens was unbelievable. Emerson looked over at Shepard, seeing that he had collapsed into one of the shuttles sets. Closing the shuttle's door, Emerson started the shuttle's ascent towards the _Icarus,_ not saying a word. When they reached the upper atmosphere, John got up and walked towards the cockpit, to the left side of Emerson's pilot chair. "It was a surprise attack. We were attacked by these creatures…but we couldn’t kill them. The comms to the _Icarus_ were jammed. When we were sent to disable the jammer, we were attacked by…soldiers" Shepard replied, answering the question Emerson had asked before. As Shepard did so, he looked outside the window of the cockpit, staring glassy-eyed at the ball of green and brown down below.


	5. Limbo

John Shepard starred up at the bunk above him, wondering if the metal frame that supported the bed would one day snap and collapse on top of him. It had been 2 months since he escaped Akuze. But to John, it didn’t feel like two months; he remembered that night as if it happened yesterday. His training during the day only reminded him of the horrors he witnessed. With every bullet he heard fired on the practice field by the new recruits, he felt instantly transported to the second that his squad had been pinned by sniper fire. When the soldiers were ordered to march or run, all John's thoughts could focus on was the night spent running through the field of mud trying to flee from the Thresher maw. Every shuttle or ship he saw land or take-off was the shuttle he had failed to stop from leaving the planet's surface.

He remembered the night he had returned to the _Icarus._ The shuttle doors had opened to the sight of a tight circle of ship crewmen. That night on the ship, word spread quickly about the massacre that had happened on the ground. When the lone shuttle returned, engineers and comm operators and navigators looked into the shuttle, desperate to see if the people they knew had made it out. Their jaws had dropped when a lone soldier stood at the door, his armor covered in blood and his helmet embedded with a metal fragment. His hands had hung limply by his side as he stepped out of the shuttle. The adrenaline having long ago worn off, he took on more shaking step and then collapsed onto the bay floor. People rushed towards him, turning his limp body over. They were shooed away as the medical team picked him up, placed him on a stretcher, and rushed him to the medical bay.

He had spent the better part of a day knocked out after the surgery to remove the fragment embedded in his skull. The doctors had urged the captain to let him rest, but the alliance brass grew desperate for answers. Shepard had sat there for the better part of three hours recounting the events of the day on Akuze to the Captain. Finding the bodies, hearing the gunfire and screams over the comm, watching Alvarez melt in acid, killing the soldiers in the building; as he retold the story, John thought over his actions, desperate to think of some way he could have saved his team. John made sure to leave out the part of his story where he had tried firing on the shuttles; better the captain not know about Shepard disobeying orders to hide. _Fuck him,_ Shepard had thought to himself. _My entire unit had died, and he wanted me to hide away like some coward._

Once news of the attack was reported, the _Icarus_ was ordered to report to Elysium, one of humanities fastest-growing settlements in the Skyllian Verge. The colony had a small alliance presence to defend it. The next few days and weeks had been spent in debriefing rooms and receiving psychological evaluations. John wanted to fight and track down the people who were responsible, but when he pressed the alliance for information, they had stonewalled him at every turn. Worse yet, they had pulled him from active service indefinitely, siting psychological trauma. To John, that had been the worst part. Not only were they denying him the truth of what happened, they had also taken him out of the fight. For the following weeks, John was relegated to staying on the military base.

Most of his days were spent training or helping out the new biotics. But John dared not let anyone close, not again, after what happened on Akuze. He isolated himself from the other troops, only interacting with them as required during training. When he initially arrived, he had been asked many questions about Akuze, but John made it quickly apparent that he wasn’t willing to discuss it, or anything really, with them. Akuze had changed John: he was the sole survivor of a brutal massacre. People said he must have been tough as nails, but he didn’t feel like a superhero. He felt the exact opposite: a person who wasn’t strong enough to protect the people under his command. Now, they were dead, being examined and experimented on in some facility in the middle of god-knows-where. And John couldn’t do anything about it, not even track down and kill those responsible.

These thoughts simmered in the back of John's mind every night. As he looked into the darkness, so eerily similar to that garage of dead bodies, he would question why he was even here; every second he spent on the base instead of fighting felt like an insult to the dozens of dead men on Akuze. Eventually, he closed his eyes and fell into the abyss of sleep. In his dreams, all he could see were the faces of his men as they cried out to him and the roar of the Thresher Maw as it hunted them down.

* * *

"Corporal Shepard, how are we today?" asked Remington as John walked into his office. While a military base was expected to be sparsely furnished and decorated, the room had two deep leather seats with a glass coffee table in the middle. On the wooden walls hung paintings of beautiful Earthen valleys and flower fields. The beauty of the paintings remained unadmired by John who, growing up without having a need for aesthetic pleasures, found them frivolous. All the furnishings were not for any random room on the base, however. This was the room of the office of the base's military psychologists.

"Fine. Can we get this over with?" rudely replied Shepard. He hated having to attend these sessions every other day. He didn’t see the need for them and thought he was fine. All he wanted to do was to see action on the front lines. He wanted to vent his frustration about being stuck in a base while people had died and those responsible were allowed to get away.

"You know just as well as I do that you won't be reinstated into active combat unless I approve you" replied Remington.

"I'm aware. But I'm not crazy or suicidal. I don't see the point of these meetings as I am perfectly fit for combat" answered Shepard.

"You're demonstrating serious symptoms of Psychosis, severe PTSD, and you isolate yourself from others. The fact that you are so willing to go back into action after what you just experienced has me believing you have a death wish to join your comrades."

"You know the alliance is just covering it up. This isn't right!" replied Shepard.

"Then if you want to make it right, you need to get better. And that's why you're here" answered Remington. To him, Shepard seemed like a good kid but Akuze broke something in him. Reading his file from before the incident, he got along fine with other soldiers. But now, he rarely interacted with them, often shooing them away. Whenever Shepard walked around, his eyes always appeared distant, as if his mind was somewhere else. "Now, are you still having those nightmares we talked about before?"

"Yes, doctor" replied Shepard in a low voice.

"Are these the same ones we talked about last week?" asked Remington.

"More or less. Just screaming and running and blood everywhere. Their screams still haunt me. Whenever I close my eyes, even now, that's all I hear" answered Shepard.

"Even when you're awake?"

"Sometimes, yes" grimly replied Shepard.

Remington had been concerned about Shepard description of the screams. He insisted he wasn’t crazy, but his description of them sounded like hallucinations of some sort, almost as if he was trapped in the past with his troops. Remington had hoped that Shepard's symptoms would eventually fade as the weeks went by, but Shepard was making little progress. Normally, soldiers would experience some degree of mental trauma after experiencing something like Shepard went through. Death was a part of combat, everyone excepted that on some level. But when these experiences interfered with how a soldier operated on the battlefield, then it became an issue. He was afraid that if he let Shepard return to active duty, he would get himself killed and endanger those around him. If Shepard kept it up at this rate, Remington would have no choice but to recommend him for discharge.

"Do they say anything? The screams, I mean," Remington asked. He did feel bad for the soldier. Watching people die in combat was one thing, but being the sole survivor of a team 50 strong was something else. Add that to the fact that his unit didn’t die over a course of time, but in one night. Losing someone in your unit for the first time is never easy, but soldiers learned to cope with loss; if their unit lost someone again, it usually wasn’t as debilitating. But Shepard hadn't really lost anyone before this. Losing 50 men that you served and interacted with for an extended period of time must have absolutely destroyed him.

"They're more like flashbacks…they keep asking for my help, but…I can't help them" answered Shepard. When Remington saw his eyes, they looked straight through him, almost as if he wasn’t there. "What about now?"

Realizing he had gotten lost in the flashbacks again, he shook himself and his eyes focused again. "That…that was nothing. Just daydreaming." Remington knew Shepard was lying; Shepard had gotten lost again, disconnected from reality.

"Have you spoken with any of the other troops? Many others are experiencing what you're going through now " stated Remington. He knew that John wasn't a very social person to begin with. Growing up as an orphan on the streets had probably not done great things for his interpersonal skills in the first place. He had no family to speak of and refused to say anything about his life before the military. Talking to soldiers who were undergoing similar experiences usually helped, but John had been adamant about isolating himself. He only interacted with them when it was absolutely necessary. From Remington's perspective, Shepard was entering an abyss of no return, one that would end with him dead in the field or crazy.

"No, I haven't. They are just going to die eventually, so there is no point" darkly replied Shepard. Remington knew that the only way to get Shepard to open up was to crack the shell around him. His only problem was that he wasn't sure how to do that. He had been working cases like these for the past 25 years to great success. But Shepard was an entirely different problem altogether. _Maybe he wasn't ready to kill people on the ground,_ Remington thought.

"It was your first time in a combat situation. Did you find it difficult to kill the enemy soldiers?"

"No, it didn't faze me. They got what was coming to them. Just wish I could have killed more of them" responded Shepard, unfazed. Shepard stared at the ground in hatred.

"Not even a little? Most soldiers at least have second thoughts or regrets" replied Emerson. Most soldiers who came back from their first deployment still felt reluctant about killing. Shepard appeared all too eager to kill more, which was distressing.

"Do you ask every soldier why they killed their enemy? Am I supposed to feel bad that I killed them or something? Nothing made me happier than watching them bleed out."

"Have you killed anyone before this, perhaps on another mission?" asked Remington. Shepard didn’t display a propensity for violence, but he sounded all too eager to engage in it.

Remington watched Shepard's next actions very closely. Shepard stared down at the ground, a remorseful expression appearing on his face for a second before being wiped away. He looked back up and stated simply "No" in a calm voice. Remington had learned many things over the years spent with his patients. But one he excelled at was reading the body language of a person who was lying. Shepard may have tried to hide it, but he wasn’t good enough. His eyes wouldn’t focus on Remington, darting around the room. His shoulders were slouched, and rose and fell rapidly, almost as if he was hyperventilating. Shepard's rude and dismissive façade had now transformed into one of fear.

"Shepard, you know I am not allowed to discuss anything you say outside of our meetings. I need you to tell me the truth."

He looked down at the ground recalling his time on the streets. "No, it wasn’t my first time" replied Shepard.

"Tell me what happened." 

* * *

Remington had had a long day. But only one of his patients truly frustrated him: John Shepard. Shepard had 'spilled the beans' so to speak, telling him almost his entire backstory. For a man who so desperately wanted to improve himself, the grim side of life had reared itself more times than it should have. Remington's heart went out to John when he heard how he had grown up; nobody should have to live with having their parents taken from them at such a young age. But as he listened to John, he could feel more than just loss; he heard antipathy from the young man towards those responsible.

Remington could see why such a man wanted to join the military. He wasn't only desperate to escape the streets. He wanted to fight those responsible for his loss; John never said so, but it was more than obvious to Remington. He had cringed when Shepard had gone over his history in the streets. He could never imagine someone so young selling drugs and mugging people just to get by. But what really disturbed him was how those around him had warped John into a ruthless killer, even though he had strived to be the opposite. He could count on one hand the number of people he had met that had had to torture someone; none of them were civilians or even kids for that matter.

What concerned Remington the most was that although Shepard ran away from Earth because he regretted killing those men in the slums, he had run into the wrong profession to make amends with his consciousness. In seeking to run away from violence, he had become that which he had feared he would become: a cold, ruthless killer. His description of his fights on Akuze proved as much; few soldiers he had ever seen killed others in such a ruthless fashion. He feared the day John realized that he had failed his moral crusade, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell the man. To take away his only sense of purpose now would utterly ruin the man.

Remington also knew that chances were slim for John to ever find those responsible, for Mindoir or Akuze. He was afraid that Shepard would become one of those men who walked through life and died without achieving their goals. Life had dealt John a bad hand, one that Remington feared the soldier wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of.

As Remington starred at the discharge papers he had drafted up for command, he signed them swiftly. Starring at his signature on the page, he felt ashamed. He knew that discharging John would ruin the man's life. He would easily end up back on Earth, running in a gang, and possibly hurt even more people. But his professional instincts told him it was what he had to do. Sure, he was a psychologist, but his job was to ensure the mental health of the troops. If John posed a risk to other men in combat, that left him with few options. Remington also feared that his hatred of Batarians would create a diplomatic incident one day. He staunchly opposed those he feared aliens, but he couldn’t blame the man. They had taken away everything from Shepard, even his childhood.

Shutting down his datapad, he left it to rest on the table. He had made up his mind about Shepard, but that didn’t mean he liked what he was doing. He decided to send the document over to command tomorrow morning. At least the soldier would have one more night of direction, purpose, and hope. He would swiftly find his world upside down in the morning.

* * *

"Sar'beros you're a go on phase 2" spoke Haliat as he swirled his bottle of Vodka around before taking another swig, the harsh liquid burning his throat as it went down. Elanos had been planning this attack for months now. He would be lying if he thought he wasn’t nervous about the next 48 hours. He didn’t care about the cannon fodder that would die tomorrow, that was for sure. But it was the slim chance of failure that scared him. The Batarian slavers and mercenary organizations of the Terminus systems had spent considerable effort and expense to prepare this attack. Elanos had spent weeks in talks to unite them under his command, and having to talk to 4-eyed Batarians for hours on end certainly didn’t raise his spirits.

He sat in the metal chair of his cruiser, waiting for the signal to arrive. The plan was simple enough and guaranteed that he wouldn’t fail. The Guardian air defense installations represented a formidable problem for him; the plan to take them out had taken countless nights to formulate, and countless more to put into action. But now Elanos sat contented, knowing there was nothing they could do about it. Unbeknownst to the alliance, all it took was a careless engineer to connect his omnitool to a set of servers slated to be installed on Elysium; these servers just so happened to control the colonies air defense grid. An engineer who had been a bit too easy to seduce by an Asari prostitute knew nothing of the plan. While he slept that night, she had uploaded the worm onto the man's omnitool. The servers had been installed into the colony's defense grid less than two weeks ago. All that needed to happen for the worm’s activation was a power outage to cause the servers to reset. Bombing the electrical plant of the colony wouldn't have done the job alone; the alliance was sure to have backup generators supporting the defense grid. However, the worm, designed to disable the grids targeting software, would render the colony defenseless against his dropships and cruisers.

As Elanos sat in his chair, an undercover human mercenary on Elysium carefully planted explosives on a set of electrical transformers. Once the charges detonated, they would short-circuit the entire power grid. The air defense systems would only be turned off for a minute as the generators kicked in, but the servers would be forced to reset, awakening the worm.


	6. Saved by the devil

(0300 Standard Earth Time, Electrical substation 2)

Four explosions detonate in the otherwise quiet night. Sparks and fire flew through the air as debris rained down. The destroyed power substation goes offline, no longer able to provide power to the several massive Guardian lasers that sat pointed to the sky like sentinels. An electrical fire consumes the block, spewing acrid, thick black smoke into the air. The fire spreads and starts to consume several surrounding blocks, burning the victims before they can escape. Hollow screams fill the night air as rescue crews scrabble to the seen.

(0301 Standard Earth Time, Alliance Command Base, Elysium)

"Johnson, I need a damage report, now!" roared the general as he stormed into the command building.

"Electricity is down in grids 4 through 7. Our air defenses are offline and half of the base is without power, sir" swiftly replied Johnson. When he had walked into his post at 2400, he thought it would have been quiet, like any other night during the last two years. It turned out this assessment was no longer the case. He had sat half asleep before but was now wide awake.

"Get the backup generators online, now! And I want the base on full alert; we don't know if this is an accident or attack" ordered the general.

"Yes, sir" Johnson replied as he turned to the haptic interface in front of him. He swiftly pressed the button that would wake the entire base. Each soldier would get a message on their omnitool, but the real kicker would be the massive air horns that would sound. At that moment, he was very glad that he was already awake. Anyone that would have to wake up to those would be in for a rude surprise.

* * *

"WWWWWWRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…WWWWWWWWRRRRRRRAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"

John sat bolt upright in bed, smacking his head into the bunk above him, as usual. _I really need to stop doing that,_ John told himself as he cradled his nose and turned to get up. John could hear the obnoxiously loud base sirens, rising and falling in intensity as they repeated their banshee wail through the night. The soldiers in the room looked down towards their omnitools, quickly reading where they would have to report to. Except for John; when he had opened his omnitool, his mouth had hung open in shock.

A few years ago, the alliance brass had thought it more efficient to link alerts about important actions on the base through omnitool instead of blaring them through a loudspeaker. Personnel could understand better and would have access to information faster. When the base was put on full alert, the VI handling the omnitool messaging system sent out the mostly pre-written messages to each person, depending upon their role. John read his in shocked silence.

_Private Shepard,_

_You are to report to Barrack 23. As the base is on full alert, we recommend you make haste for your safety. Civilians are not recommended to be exposed while forces engage hostiles._

_Alliance Command,_

Shepard sat there in shock. _What?! Those sons of bitches…Removing access to my guns and armor was one thing, but even during an attack, they deny me access?!_

The other soldiers stormed out of the room. Except for John: Realizing that he wouldn’t have access to his military weapons, John quickly reached for his possessions bag under his bed. He stuck his hand inside, rummaging through the few contents inside it until his hand close around cold metal. He drew the Carnifex pistol out of the back and tucked it into his waistline. He hated carrying that weapon, but it was his last resort.

John jogged out of the room at half pace, utterly defeated. He was a soldier on a military base. Even though he wasn’t on active deployment, he had still been expecting to be a part of the base's operations during an attack. Not that he had been expecting one, but still. It showed John just how much of a tight leash the brass here had given him. In their eyes, he was no better than a civilian on the base. This thought utterly enraged John. He had seen more soldiers die than most of the troops around him, but they were treating him with less respect than a day one recruit.

John exited the building and started running towards his assigned barrack, barrack…23, John spit out in his mind. _Sure, just stick me with all the janitors and base cooks and maintenance workers, I totally belong there,_ John told himself sarcastically.

John's hatred for the brass was quickly cut short as he heard the sound of a sonic boom in the sky. And then another boom, followed by a dozen more. John stopped dead in his tracks as he looked up into the dark night sky, spotting the lights of several cruisers and frigates. Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

(0302 Standard Earth Time, Alliance Command Base, Elysium)

"Sir, we have multiple hostile contacts in the sky. I repeat, multiple hostile contacts" screamed Johnson loudly as he surveyed the various arrays of screens in front of him.

In rapid succession, the identifiers of alliance cruisers in orbit started to wink out. "What the hell happened to our ships?" asked the general.

"What the hell? They're reporting that our defenses our firing on them" replied Johnson.

"Get those cannons offline! If they take out our fleet, we've already lost."

"Sir, we're locked out of the defense tower controls. I can't access them" replied one of the techs as a frantically tried to gain access multiple times and failed.

The general’s worst fears quickly grew in front of his eyes. His base was currently under attack. Several questions raced through his mind, chief among was why they were attacking the colony. The alliance hadn't seen major conflicts with other races since the First-Contact war.

* * *

John looked up towards the sky as he watched the ships fly. His mind raced to find answers. _Are these the same people from Akuze? Why are they attacking us?_ Suddenly, blue and white streaks started racing from the ships towards distant areas on the ground. John thought the display looked almost beautiful…until he realized they were high caliber mass accelerator rounds that were leveling buildings off in the distance. The defense towers seemed to be firing, but none of them hit the strange cruisers in orbit. 

John turned around in the opposite direction he was jogging but now was at a full sprint. If the colony was under attack, there was no way in hell he would be walking around without his gear. He figured that he could slip into the armory during all the chaos. If they wanted to discharge him after, so be it. He could at least protect himself before he died. He didn’t think he would be allowed to stay on the base much longer anyway.

By the time he reached the armory, most of the troops had already put on their gear and left to their squad leaders. John could hear explosions off in the distance as he neared the door. Taking another glance at the sky, John could see shuttles descending down from the sky, lighting the sky up like a swarm of fireflies in the night.

As the last soldiers poured out of the armory at a full sprint, John caught the door before it closed and ran inside. Quickly scanning the equipment lockers for his number, he found it a minute later. Various weapons were strewn about on the floor from the haste of the situation. The last time he had opened the thing was when he had put his weapons from Akuze in there. Pulling on the door, he realized it wouldn’t budge. _Of course it’s locked by ID,_ John thought and pulled the Carnifex from his waist. He leveled it at the locking mechanism and pulled the trigger three times. Sparks flew into his face as the mechanism broke, but John didn’t even flinch. He pulled on the door again and it swung open, revealing his old gear.

He took the armor out of the locker and started to put it on. First, he started with the boots; as soon as he had both feet in the armored greaves, he was hit with the many memories of the night on Akuze. Images quickly ran through his mind as he remembered the massacre… _No, this time they die._

By the time John had put on the chest plate, all that remained was his helmet. As he picked it up, he could see the hole that had been left by the explosion in the garage. Looking down at the armor that protected his arms, he realized that it was still covered in a few patches of dried blood. As he put on the helmet, his omnitool finished linking to his suit, bring all of its systems, including the military comm channel, online.

As soon as the comms opened, he could hear the cries for back up and reinforcements. They had simply overrun their defenses. Their ships should have fallen out of the sky by now, but they hadn't. To John, that meant that there was a serious issue. He had seen the massive guns that were installed throughout the colony; they were more than capable of taking down the cruisers in orbit. So why hadn't they?

John turned back to the locker and reached for his shotgun. He was about to grab his assault rifle when he remembered the assortment of weapons he saw on the floor. He turned around and surveyed the scattered arsenal. Seeing a grenade launcher, he picked it up and stored it on his back. Remembering his time on Akuze with the sniper rifle, he scanned the ground until he found a Mantis rifle; it wasn’t as heavily modified as the one on Akuze, but it would get the job done. 

As soon as he was fully equipped. He turned out of the room and bolted for the door. Now outside, he could see fires burning and hear the sounds of gunfire all around him. Squinting his eyes to see through the low-light of the base, he could roughly make out a couple of figures off in the distance. John immediately felt guilty and relieved at the same time. The figures in the distance were next to a barrack, the barrack John had been assigned to go to originally. Getting down on one knee, he pulled the rifle from his back and looked through the scope. He realized immediately that it was a regular scope, unlike the thermal scope that had proved so critical to him on Akuze. Despite this setback, he could see well enough to make out the figures.

He saw several soldiers in blue and white armor dragging people out of a building and into the street before shooting them in the head. Increasing the magnification, he realized that the people they were executing were not soldiers, but people in civilian clothing. Blood sprayed up in the distance from another victim as John analyzed the situation, making him feel guilty about his indecisiveness. Steadying himself as he prepared the shot, he pulled back and the trigger and rifle rocked against him. The bullet hit the mercenary, shattering his shields and sending him a couple of steps back. The other mercenaries around him looked around for the shooter as they ducked into cover. But it was too late for the first mercenary, as John sent another shot at him, striking him in the gut. The other mercenaries now had their snipers out and we're scanning the area, looking for John. He quickly went flat on his stomach and started crawling towards the corner of a brick building for cover. 

As John crawled, he really wished he hadn't broken that rifle on Akuze. It might have fired slowly, but it was one-hit one-kill. When John reached the corner of the building, we looked down at his rifle and fumbled with the settings as he tried to equip disruptor rounds. After a few seconds, John had gotten back up and peeked around the corner with his scope. The mercenaries had gotten up and started running away from John’s direction _. Fucking idiots_ , John thought to himself as he saw the mercenaries quickly exposed. He tapped on the trigger twice in quick succession bring another mercenary down. The last mercenary was running at full speed and would be gone from John’s sight in a matter of seconds. _Make this one count, come on…_ John told himself as he aimed at the last mercenary. John pulled the trigger and the mercenaries head exploded in a shower of blood. John's rifle was way too overheated and he could hear the barrel sizzling. He jabbed the barrel into the dirt at his feet for a few seconds to dissipate some of the heat before putting it on his back. He then reached for his shotgun.

He got up and started making his way towards Barack 23. He didn't have a post to be at technically, so he thought why the hell not. As John jogged towards the barrack, crouching low to the ground, flashbacks of Akuze flipped through his mind, sending shivers down his spine. Looking south, John could see that the majority of the fighting was taking place there, and it was a slaughter. He could briefly see the outline of mercenary gunships raining fire down on distant targets.

When he reached the barrack, he surveyed the area and noticed several bodies on the floor. There were about five or six humans in civilian clothing lying on the concrete floor, blood still trickling out of their wounds. Turning to his right, he approached the body of one of the mercenaries. The armor was old and worn, unlike the quality of the armor worn by the soldiers on Akuze. _Well, at least they aren't following me,_ John thought.

John saw that the bodies had a roughly human shape, but that still left to many possible suspects. Kneeling on one knee, he got closer to the ground and brought both of his hands to the release clasps of the helmet. The helmet let out a short his of depressurization as he started to pull it off. He could hear whimpering from inside the barrack's ajar door, but he could care less at this point. As the helmet slowly slide off, John could first see the brown and leathery skin; as the helmet continued to slide over the head, a pair of dark black orbs appeared. And then, another pair. **Batarians…**

John felt his heart drop. The same people who had taken everything from him were back to do it again. John's eyes started to sting, but then his emotions were consumed by fire. "MothER FUCKERS…I'LL KILL YOU ALL" John screamed as he extended his shotgun and pointed it at the head of the deceased merc. He pulled the trigger, once, twice, then three times. John's shins were coated in bits of flesh and droplets of blood. Turning himself towards the other mercs body, he prepared to repeat the same process, eager to obliterate the face of his enemy. He roughly pulled off the helmet and leveled his shotgun at the mercs head. But suddenly, he realized something: the face of this merc didn’t belong to a Batarian, it was a human. John stood there, shocked for a moment. _No, no…this isn't possible. A human wouldn’t attack their own colony,_ John tried to tell himself. _But they attacked you, didn’t they?_ the other half of his mind rebutted.

John dropped his shotgun and sunk to his knees, holding his head in his hands. He was feeling very lightheaded as a million thoughts raced through his mind. "Please, get inside. You're going to give our position away" he heard someone whisper lightly behind his shoulder. He turned towards the voice, his eyes desperately trying to focus on the figure in the night. John reached for his shotgun before he got up, slowly stumbling towards the figure. As he approached, he could make out the man's close-cropped white hair, but before he could discern more, the figure ran back inside the building, clearly too frightened to stay out there any longer.

John slowly staggered towards the building. His mind remained shattered, only his military training keeping him moving. His reality dipped in and out of hallucination, seeing figures and faces long since dead floating in front of him. He sunk to his knees again, struggling to breathe. He started to hyperventilate inside his armor, gasping for breath. In his confusion and desperation, he clawed at his helmet, struggling and failing to take it off. His vision blurred and he collapsed to the ground, adrenaline burned through his veins, but this only confused him more. He tried crawling forward, even though he couldn’t see anymore as his vision turned black, but his limbs refused to respond. All he heard was screaming and gunfire, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or a figment of his imagination. Unable to breathe properly, his already strained brain shut down.

* * *

John's body was slow to wake. Feeling returned to his hands, and he realized that he no longer held his shotgun. _Somebody took it from me,_ he realized in his sleepy state. Fear began to aggregate in his mind as his military training spurred him to action. His eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet, a biotic barrier instantly igniting around him. He reached for the pistol on his hip and armed it. His blue light lit up the room allowing him to assess the situation. A woman sat huddled at the wall next to the door, a shotgun clutched tightly in both hands, his shotgun. But she wasn’t pointing it at him, she had it trained on the room's closed door. The only light in the room, besides John's biotics, was a dim flashlight held by an old man. Allowing his mind to slightly relax as he realized that he wasn’t in any imminent danger, John's eyes scanned the room. Seven or eight people sat huddled, each wielding some small object in their hands, probably to defend themselves.

He made eye contact with a man, the man that had spoken to him before, and he brought a finger to his lips, his eyes pleading for John's silence. The others in the room stared at him, fear present in their eyes, as they watched the armed soldier assess the situation. They knew that if he snapped, they could easily die at his hands. John watched them with confusion, wondering why they were afraid of him. After a few seconds, he realized that they were scared of him, a thought that hurt John. _I'm supposed to protect these people and all I have down is scare the shit out of them._ John relaxed from his fighting stance and aimed the pistol back at the ground, away from the helpless people.

John took a couple of deep breaths and realized that his helmet was no longer on his head. He finally allowed his mind to calm down completely as he drew several quick breaths. "Where…where am I?" John asked. Everyone in the room turned their heads to John, holding their fingers over their mouths, each pair of eyes showing the desperation of their silent pleas. "I heard something in here, Sebastian" John heard a deep voice sound from the other side of the door. The people in the room readied their makeshift weapons, terrified that this would be their last moment. _Shit,_ John suddenly realized, and a second later, the door flew open. A mercenary stood there, his assault rifle trained on John's form. Bullets flew out of the rifle and impacted John. His shields dropped as John threw a wall of biotic energy at the soldier, flattening him against the hallway's wall. John raised his pistol to fire, but the mercenary had already trained his rifle on John again. _So this is how I die._ He prepared himself for the worst as he watched the world in slow motion, his arm still trying to lift the pistol and aim it on the mercenary, but he knew he would be too late.

Blood sprayed everywhere as two loud shots echoed around the room. But it wasn't John's blood. The mercenary slid down the wall in a crumpled heap, a massive hole in his chest. John turned his eyes towards the woman that held his shotgun, and he realized that she had been the one to fire. Before John could express his thanks for the save, a grenade flew through the doorway. Acting purely on instinct, his hand jumped up and swatted the grenade back into the hallway. The woman at the doorway kicked the door shut as blue energy swirled around John. At the last second, before the grenade detonated, John's biotics formed a barrier in the doorway. The grenade detonated, ripping the door off its hinges and sending it directly into John. He and the heavy metal door smashed into the wall behind him. John lied on the floor, unable to move as the door pinned him down.

Much to John's relief, he found the door being lifted off of him and tossed to the side. He could see that three people had gotten up to help him. They rushed towards him and dragged him off to the side, away from the line of sight of the door. John was too dazed to move and each breath he drew made his ribs burn. But he was still alive, and that was more than most could ask for. They leaned him against the wall and stood around him. He looked up at them and realized that although their mouths were moving, he couldn’t hear a thing. All John could hear was a ceaseless ringing in his ears.

John sat there on the floor for a couple of minutes while his hearing returned. After a while, he spoke in a harsh whisper: "Where are we?"

"Barrack 23, it's where we were told to go during the attack. But the other soldiers came here and started to…to" the woman tried to say.

"It's alright. You're safe now, although I should be thanking you for saving my life" Sheard responded.

The woman gulped and her only reply was a nod. "We dragged you back here after we found you outside. They would have killed you if they saw you. Shepard, you need to learn to relax, even in combat or stressful situations. We talked about this, didn’t we?" stated the man.

John sat on the floor, suddenly confused. _This man knows who I am, but who the hell is he?_ Shepard got up and took a few steps towards the men. In the darkroom, Shepard began to slowly realize who this man was. His psychologist. "Remington? What the hell are you doing here?" asked Shepard. He felt shocked, but also slightly embarrassed that Remington is the one who saw him collapse. If they survived the attack, Shepard certainly wasn’t getting reinstated any faster into live combat _. Humph, live combat. Like I haven't already fought and killed people today._

"Same as you should have done. By the looks of it, you seemed to disobey those orders, Shepard."

_We're in the middle of a fucking war zone and he's concerned about regulation? Even that woman is holding a gun, and she isn't a soldier!_ Shepard was about to take two steps towards the man and snap his neck in anger when Remington spoke again. "But I'm not one to complain. If you hadn't killed those mercs outside, we would have been dead."

_He really needs to shut the fuck up sometimes. If he wants to talk in his office fine. But we are in a battle, this is MY space._ He was about to reply but stopped at the last second. Insulting Remington would do him no good. Instead, he asked: "What the hell's going on? Who is attacking us?"

"We don't know. But something was wrong, even before the attack. The power went out where I stayed, and that was before they started firing or ships had arrived. Everyone here thinks I'm crazy, but it's true" answered a man in the corner. He wore a charred and bloodied grey shirt that hung off of his body in tatters.

Realizing that getting any solid information out of this group would be difficult, he realized that he was better off checking the military comms. He searched for his helmet and found it next to where he had originally woken up. As he picked it up and brought it close to his face, he stopped. His mind flashed back to earlier when he had passed out because he couldn’t breathe. He froze, unsure of what he wanted to do anymore. _What kind of soldier am I? Too afraid to put on._ As John stood there, he felt a hand on his shoulder through the armor. "It's alright, Shepard. Just take deep, slow breathes. Breath through your nose and exhale through your mouth" he heard a voice tell him, Remington's voice.

John took two deep breaths, listening to Remington's advice, and put his helmet back on. Once he heard the click as it connected with the rest of his armor, the inside lighted up. He could hear the small whine of the suits fan starting up, but he willed himself to stay calm. If he broke down in front of these civilians…

Activating his omnitool, he brought it up and opened up his comm channel. "This is commander Anderson…can anyone hear me? Over."

"Loud and clear, sir. Private Shepard, uh…fifth regiment" replied Shepard, trying to hide the fact that he wasn’t exactly with a unit.

"Where the hell is your commanding officer? We need immediate support at my coordinates, this is mission-critical" replied Anderson.

"Affirmative, I'll head over there now. Uhhhh…I'm not exactly under a commanding officer at the moment, though" replied Shepard.

"What do you…" the comms cut suddenly, but Shepard knew what he was going to say. "Never mind, just get your ass over here with as much firepower as you can. We're having trouble requesting backup from the others. We are getting overwhelmed here!" screamed Anderson.

Shepard turned around and faced the group of civilians. His mind was of two choices. On one hand, he should stay and protect the civilians; hell, they protected him just as much. On the other, he had his military duty to follow orders. _Did they even count if I'm not in active duty?_ But he knew what he had to do. If he didn’t follow orders, this whole battle could go to hell. _God damn it, it already has._ Still feeling guilty about having to leave the civilians defenseless, he turned around to tell them the news. "Um, I need to go. Orders for backup came over the comms…and…" Shepard had started to say but was cut off by Remington.

"Go, soldier. You do what you have to do. Don't mind us, we can hold out. Do us proud out there."

"I…I will sir" Shepard replied. "Thank you, Remington. For everything." Shepard grabbed his pistol off the floor, looking back at the civilians in the room. He had a bad feeling about leaving them, but what choice did he have? As he was about to walk out of the room, the woman that held his shotgun got up and held it for him to take. He shook his head; if he wasn’t going to protect them, the least he could do was make sure they were armed. "You keep it, you need it more than I do," Shepard told her. All she could do was nod back, too scared at the situation to speak as she leaned back against the wall again, clutching the shotgun.

Shepard stepped out of the room and turned down the hallway. He could see the shredded bits of what was left of a mercs body. The legs had been completely blown off, and the body armor had been charred black. The sight might John feel a little better; the bastard got what he deserved. The hallway glowed in a dark red, the only light coming from the red emergency signs. John turned at an intersection and took a left. At the end of the hallway stood an open door, the stars of the night and fires of the battle clearly visible through it.

When he walked outside, he was just in time to see the wreckage of an alliance cruiser falling out of the sky. Its twisted metal frame hit the ground, flattening several buildings to the south. Returning his gaze to his omnitool, the coordinates Anderson had given him were 5 clicks away. He realized that it would take too long to reach him on foot, so he decided to look for another form of transportation. He had been on this army base long enough and decided to head to the vehicle lot.

When John reached the area two minutes later, he stopped in his tracks, he shoulder visibly slumping. The lot was a destroyed mass of vehicle carcasses, some still smoldering, and dead bodies. _No, I have to find something._ He approached the lot and ducked under the chain-link fence that had mostly been blown to shreds. He walked between the rows of useless cars, keeping low and trying to take cover as best he could. He could see a dead body in front of him; the soldier was clearly dead, but her guns and equipment were still intact. Realizing that he was dangerously underequipped after he gave away his shotgun, he approached the body cautiously, afraid that the person who had killed the soldier was still around. Her body was riddled with bullets, causing John to almost say a silent prayer. In her hands, she held an Avenger assault rifle, and around her waist was a belt of grenades. John reached for the Avenger, tugging it out of her hands. Even in death, she held onto the rifle with surprising strength. After freeing the rifle, he undid the clasp that held her grenades, bringing it up and looping it around his own waist.

In the distance, he could hear another loud explosion and the ground physically rocked around him. _I better get moving._ Shepard continued through the lot, his heart sinking as he couldn’t find an intact vehicle. As he was about to give up, contemplating how he would let the desperate commander on the other end of the comm down, his eyes finally laid upon an intact vehicle. On its side, 'Mako' was written in large bold letters, the white paint fighting to be seen against the soot-covered metal.

Feeling relieved, Shepard approached the vehicle and climbed into it. Sitting in the driver's seat, he closed the hatch and put his hands on the wheel. Although he had never really driven before, he decided that it couldn't be that hard, right? His only problem: the damn thing wouldn't start. M1ost larger pieces of alliance equipment, like tanks and dropships, would only respond to users omnitools who had alliance security codes. Otherwise, enemy units could highjack their equipment. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem for John as a soldier. However, since his codes had been rescinded after being pulled from active duty, the Mako refused to start.

John sat there, fuming at his predicament. He had survived all this only to be stalked by a bunch of fucking codes. He put his head in his hands, preparing to call Anderson over the comms and tell him he wouldn't be able to provide back up.

* * *

(About 5 years ago, New York City)

"Shepard, how the fuck are you not done yet?" screamed Marcus. "The cops are going to be here any minute!"

"I'm fucking trying Marcus, but this crap isn't easy. Give me a second" Shepard screamed back. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. He was bent over in the driver's seat of an aircar, desperately trying to get the car started. He tore and cut several of the wires, using his nails to peel off the plastic lining.

Suddenly, Marcus tossed the duffle bag into the back seat, Kareem barely able to catch it and the fragile contents it contained. "Move over" Marcus roared as his hands reached under the driver's seat, shoving John's hands away. Although slightly pissed at Marcus' attitude, he watched him intently as he crossed wires of different colors and cut others. 

After a few seconds, the hum of the aircars engine sounded and the lights in the cabin began to turn on.

* * *

"Let's go!" John screamed as the Mako's engine roared to life, pumping his fist into the air. Opening the comm channel to Commander Anderson, he stated "ETA 3 minutes sir. And I'm bringing a tank with me! Over?"

Shepard could hear sporadic gunfire on the other end of the comm. "Affirmative private. Hurry up with the backup. If we lose this point, we're finished" Anderson's voiced replied, desperation clearly in it.

Shepard slowly navigated the Mako through the other destroyed vehicles before turning on to a road. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and the Mako shot forward. As he approached the base's exit, he crashed through the checkpoint, snapping the gate instantly.

He watched the Mako's display, eyeing the massive cruisers in orbit above the planet. We wondered why not a single one was being hit by the defense towers. _No wonder we are getting slaughtered and their ships haven't fallen out of the sky. This Anderson guy better have a plan, I don't want to die for nothing._

As John neared the coordinates, he called Anderson over the comms again. "Anderson, I'm here with the Mako. Over?"

"Flank them from the East. Get them off our asses!" ordered Anderson.

"Copy that" replied Shepard. He drove the Mako through the streets, the tall buildings casting eerie shadows from the firelight. He slowly turned the block and pulled the Mako into the avenue. While John could fire the Mako from the driver's seat, it was less than optimal as he would have to rely on the hazy optics instead of the built-in scope of the cannons main gun. As the screen before him came into focus, he could see the outline of a barricade, with several soldiers in the easily identifiable blue-white armor of the mercs. "Anderson, tell your men to get down. The blocks about to light up. Over?"

"Affirmative, you're a go" answered Anderson. Shepard knew he would have to be quick, otherwise, the mercs would use the window to attack the soldiers again. He aimed the cannon slightly downwards so it would impact at the feet of the mercs. He pressed the button on the haptic interface in front of him and the Mako rocked, the suspension groaning as it tried to absorb the impact. A fireball erupted at the mercy barricade and bodies were sent flying into the air. Shepard knew most of the mercs would be dazed after that hit, so he waited another couple of seconds for the main gun to reload before blasting them again. Deciding he had caused enough carnage, he drove the Mako forward into the merc barricade, sending crates and debris flying.

He braked the Mako once he saw alliance troops in front of him. John put the Mako's gear into park before trying to coverup his handiwork under the driving controls. Unable to conceal the mess of wires, he silently cursed and hoped the others wouldn't notice. John jumped out of the Mako's hatch and jogged over to the alliance soldiers. They were held up inside the ground floor of an apartment complex, its' many glass windows long since shattered in front of the entrance. "Private thank you for the backup. I wasn't sure we would last much longer" Shepard heard a man speak as he approached Shepard. The sparking of electrical cabling lit up the man's face in brief flashes, allowing to see that the man had dark skin. He wore no helmet, and his grey armor gleamed with red and white outlines. On his chest, an insignia was emblazoned into the armor. _His an N7? What the hell is he doing here,_ Shepard thought before scolding himself.

As the man reached Shepard, he turned his head around and issued commands to his soldiers; "Jennings and Obrian, I want you in that Mako, now! Guard the perimeter." _This guy sounds like a real hardass._

_"_ Lieutenant commander David Anderson, N7 Marines," he told John while saluting.

"Private John Shepard, biotic specialist" saluted Shepard back to Anderson.

"Biotic, huh. Could have used you earlier, son" Anderson responded.

"Uh… Sorry, sir. Would you mind telling me what happened here?" asked Shepard.

"Pirate and mercenary groups attacked at 0300 this morning. Our techs aren't sure how yet, but they disabled our access to their targeting systems with a worm" replied Anderson. 

"Why isn't the alliance fleet fighting back?" asked Shepard. While the worm explained why the Guardians weren't hitting the merc ships, it didn’t explain why the alliance ships weren't shooting them down.

"Because all our ships that were stationed in orbit have been shot down. Any reinforcements have been told to stay away. The mercs have gained remote access to the defense grid and have been using it to attack our ships."

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. Why can't anything ever be easy?_

"Most of our forces are scattered resistance at this point, it has been nothing but a slaughter. Our only chance is to retake control of the defense towers, or at the very least disable them" Anderson continued.

"Now that you've brought us the Mako, our job is a little easier" Anderson stated. He turned around slightly so both his men and Shepard could here is orders. "Our plans have changed. Lincoln, Xavier, Jansi, Liu, and Hanson, you're going to take the Mako and blow up the satellite relays in the north of the colony; that'll prevent the mercs from using our guns. Al-Mierli, Cabot, Lusac, and Sheard, you're coming with me; we head for the server station to regain control of the defense towers."

* * *

Shepard followed Anderson down the streets as they took cover behind overturned cars and destroyed buildings. The air was thick with dust and smoke, clouding their vision as they tried to make their way through the city. John could see the sun start to rise at the horizon, barely a dull orange haze in the distance as it tried to fight against a black sky.

The streets were not a fun place to be. They were filled with mercs rounding up civilians into cages like cattle. Anderson and his soldiers could do nothing as they sneaked by, desperate to avoid detection. Shepard felt that leaving those people to be brutalized by the pirates was wrong, but he knew deep down that he had no choice. If they didn’t retake control of the orbital defenses, everyone was as good as dead.

The soldiers neared their objective, a rather fortified two-story concrete building. It had sustained moderate damage through the night but looked for the most part intact. A thick concrete wall surrounded its outer perimeter. As they approached, Shepard's heart sunk as he saw that it was rather heavily defended by enemy troops. Multiple groups of troops patrolled the perimeter, and he could see countless more through the windows.

"Shit" whispered Anderson. "It's like they knew our plan."

"What do we do now, sir," asked one of the soldiers.

"What we came here to do. We take this building and hold it" ordered Anderson. The soldiers looked at each other, each knowing what that command meant. There was no way that they would all survive an assault like this. It was going to be a one way trip for them.

"Cabot and Lusac, we need to get you inside that building to fix the servers; if we lose you, there is no point. That means the rest of us need to protect you" instructed Anderson. "Al-Mierli, I need you to take this rooftop and cover us with sniper fire" he continued.

"Shepard, I hope you’re a good biotic. You're going to be with me, protecting Cabot and Lusac."

Each of the soldiers nodded, knowing what they would have to do and that they would probably die. Shepard closed his eyes for a second, eager to escape the battle around him at least for the moment. Unfortunately, the only image his mind could conger was the Thresher maw attacking him again. _No, not again._

Shepard's eyes snapped open and focused on a truck in the street.

"Sir, I have another idea," stated Shepard. He was afraid about questioning his commanding officer, but he couldn't give a fuck at this point. He had watched enough people die.

"What the hell are you talking about" replied Anderson with concern in his voice.

"There's a truck with wheels right there. I say we take it and ram the building instead of running to it. While you take Cabot and Lusac, I'll cover you guys with a grenade launcher" Shepard elaborated, emphasizing his remark by taking the grenade launcher off of his back and holding it in his hands.

"I don't like it at all. But I agree with you, it's our best chance" Anderson replied begrudgingly. He didn’t like being one-upped by some unknown private, but the man was right.

As Al-Mierli readied his sniper on the rooftop, the other men made their way down the building into the street. They quietly sprinted to the truck, Anderson sat in the front, and Shepard, Cabot, and Lusac took the cargo area. Shepard sat down on the floor and grabbed the handles of a rather large and heavy create. "Alright, is everyone in position," asked Anderson over the comm.

"Yes, sir." 

"Affirmative."

"Loud and clear."

"Copy that."

Anderson turned the truck on, the hum of the engine giving away their position. The building was a quarter-mile away, which meant that the mercs would have ample time to fire at them. Without a second thought, Anderson floored the accelerator. The truck took time to build up speed as it raced towards the wall surrounding the building. Mercs turned in the truck's direction and started to fire at the unknown vehicle. But bullets couldn’t stop a speeding truck. Anderson gleefully ran over a handful of mercs before the truck crashed into the thick concrete wall, breaking through easily. The force of the impact jolted Shepard and he almost lost his grip on the crate. The truck then slammed into the wall of the building but was unable to break through. The crash sent Shepard sliding across the floor until he slammed into the back wall of the cargo area.

"Shepard…this…is Anderson. I'm stuck and I can't…get out. You're going to have to take the techs from here" Anderson gasped into the comm. _The man is dying, and it's all my fault._ Slowly, he got up and came to his senses. He heard the loud crack of a sniper rifle going off, and shots started to riddle the truck. A bullet struck him in the calf, causing him to stumble slightly. Cabot and Lusac stayed as down to the floor as possible, knowing they had to avoid death at all costs.

"Yes, sir. Consider it done" Shepard answered back. He was fucking tired of these pirates ruining his life wherever he went. _These Batarians will pay_ , Shepard told himself. John's anger caused his biotics to flare around him as he readied his assault rifle. He jumped out of the back of the truck, coming face to face with a merc right off the bat. He head-butted the merc and as the woman stumbled back, he held down the trigger of his assault rifle. He turned around and saw a squad of mercs preparing to fire on him. Before he could train his assault rifle on them, they unleashed a hail of bullets at John. Just as his biotic barrier was about to give way, he threw the energy at the mercs, sending them flying backward. John burst fired his gun, hitting one in the air and finishing the others off as they rolled on the ground.

Cabot and Lusac jumped out of the truck a second later, yielding a pistol in one hand and while readying their omnitools in the other. They joined Shepard and the soldiers started to make their way to the entrance. They had already broken threw the wall that surrounded the building. This was both good and bad. Any soldiers that attacked them would be funneled in front of or behind them. The only problem was that they were also inside the 'funnel'. The techs stayed behind John as they rounded the corner. They instantly collided with a group of Batarians. John tackled the first merc before he could fire on the techs. John and the first Batarian fell to the floor, ensnaring another one of the mercs and bringing him down as well. The techs behind John opened fire on the merc left standing. John and the mercs on the ground wrestled one another, but John was quickly overpowered by the two Batarians. One pinned his arm as the other drew his pistol and prepared to fire it. In the nick of time, the Batarian pinning John's arm was shot and recoiled. His arm now freed, he grabbed the other mercs gun by the barrel and pointed it away from him as it began to fire. With his other arm, he stuck his fingers into two of the Batarians eyes. They smashed like grapes as John's armored gauntlet gouged them out. He pulled the mercs head to the side and slammed it into the ground, pulling his fingers out of the Batarians eyes as the man screamed. John brought his fist up, before surrounding it in biotics and bringing it back down on the mercs head. John got back up, grinning sadistically at the pile of Batarian bodies in front of him.

He picked up his assault rifle from the floor, and Shepard's group proceeded towards the entrance of the building. As they were about to walk in the front, several dozen mercs barricaded the entrance and sent a wall of bullets at John. He quickly jumped back behind the wall. Getting up, signaled for the techs to wait before he dropped his assault rifle on the ground and undid the belt of grenades around his waist. He pulled the pin on one and hurled the entire belt into the entrance. He again dove back into the cover as the mercs fired at him again, a bullet striking him in the shoulder and passing clean through.

A massive fireball exploded out of the buildings front entrance, prompting John to pick up his assault rifle and charge in. The first level of the building was charred and small fires burned in several places. Bodies had been blasted to pieces and tossed to the side from the explosion, but some mercs who were far enough away to not be immediately killed slowly moved. John fired into their bodies before they could recover, killing at least 8 of them. John could see a staircase in the middle of the room, and three mercs had appeared. John rolled out of the way as they started to fire. He switched his assault rifle out for his grenade launcher and prepared to go around the corner and fire into the stairwell before one of the techs grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. " The servers are on that floor. If you destroy them, we won't be able to take control of the defenses again. John, unfortunately agreeing, brought his assault rifle back out. He peeked around the corner of the stairwell, picking up the mercs with his biotics and pulling them down the stairs. When they had tumbled down the stairs completely, John and the techs riddled the mercs with bullets.

They sprinted up the stairs and made short work of the remaining works on the floor. The techs approached one of the doors and kicked it down. The dark room was lined with servers, blue lights flashing while others continuously glowed. The techs connected their omnitool to the servers and began their work. Shepard leaned against the wall, his job complete. He was out of breath, and as the haze of combat began to fade, the wounds in his shoulder and leg began to throb painfully. He slid down to the floor and started to administer medi-gel to his wounds. He realized that he had bled out more than he had expected, and he felt very lightheaded. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut in hopes to ease the pain.

_Come on, hold on just a little longer. We're almost done,_ Shepard told himself. Almost as if on cue, one of the techs called out to him. "Hey, Shepard. I think the mercs are coming back" spoke Cabot. Shepard opened his eyes, watching the other men type on their omnitools and connect wires between different servers. Slowly, he got up. He could barely stand from the injury in his leg, and the exhaustion of hours of combat didn’t help. "Stay…stay here. Finish this, I'll take care of the mercs" Shepard whispered through parsed lips.

"Hey, it was nice knowing you man," Lusac said. Shepard only turned his head and nodded before he started limping out of the room. He could hear a commotion from the floor downstairs. He knew he would need over and pulled a desk into the middle of the hallway. He turned it over and got on one knee behind it, aiming his assault rifle at the entrance of the staircase. Shepard didn’t feel like dying, but he couldn’t have thought of a better way of going out: killing as many Batarians as possible.

He heard multiple footsteps coming up the stairs and he braced himself for what was to come. The helmet of a merc popped up the staircase only to be shot by John's rifle. The mercs' body tumbled back down, bringing down several others mercs with him. Somebody threw a grenade and John was able to push it back down with his biotics, killing the first wave. But more still came, running up the stairs, only for John to put a bullet between their eyes or in their chest. Eventually, his assault rifle overheated, its barrel bright orange. John tossed it to the side and picked up his grenade launcher, firing two shots down the stairs. Suddenly, John felt a sharp pain in his chest and dropped the launcher. A sniper across the street had shot him through the window behind him. He looked down only to see himself gushing blood onto the floor. He collapsed backward, unable to keep himself upright. He started crawling back to the server room to make his last stand. He dragged his body through the door just as another wave of mercs climbed up the staircase. He could see that the techs were still working frantically; one of them eyed him quickly, a look of remorse on his face before he looked back down at his omnitool. "Almost done here," he told him. John crawled another couple of feet before he turned himself over. He drew his Carnifex and pointed it at the doorway. He wouldn’t give up until he was dead, anything less would allow the Batarians to ruin his life again.


	7. To win and lose

Cabot looked over at John, knowing he had little time left before the mercs burst through the door. Lusac had already created the server's restore point and they had quarantined the virus. All they were waiting for now was the server reboot. The private's body was rapidly bleeding out, a small pool of blood spreading around him. And yet he still refused to lie down, still pointing his pistol at the doorway.

As John lay there on the floor, he had an idea, one last hope. "Cabot, give me… a grenade…" Shepard gasped. Cabot quickly obliged and tossed it to him. John pulled the pin and held the grenade for a few seconds. He held it until the last moment and then tossed it at the hallway's ceiling. John tried to protect the room with his biotics, but the flimsy blue dome evaporated as the fireball erupted, bringing down the ceiling in the hallway and barricading the door.

"You could have fucking brought down this whole building or destroyed the servers! What the fuck man" screamed Lusac.

"I didn't…see you…come up with anything" John tried to say, coughing up blood. He was coated in a thick layer of concrete.

"Lusac, shut up man," Cabot said as he rushed over to John and started applying what little medigel he could to John's numerous wounds. John's vision started to become hazy, and eventually, turned black.

* * *

  


His body was sore and ached all over. He felt a softness underneath him, which he found odd, as he distinctly remembered lying on a hard floor slick with his own blood. Every breath he took was painful, and he restricted himself to short, shallow ones. His ears could hear the steady beeping of an EKG. He opened his eyes only to be blinded by white light, causing him to see spots. His mind felt slow, and he felt like he was doing something important, but he couldn’t remember what it was. 

He tried to sit up, but his gut burned with immense pain. Looking down, he could see a bandage thick with dry blood, his blood… Suddenly, it hit Shepard. The last thing he remembered was…basically dying. But he hadn't died; he was still here. And that meant he was still in danger, or so he thought in his confused state. He tried rolling over to his side, but he ended up crashing to the tiled floor, dragging the metal IV stand down on top of him via the various tubs that stuck out of his arm. As he lied on the floor, in too much pain to get up, a nurse rushed in the room and over to his limp and battered body.

After returning him to the bed and reconnecting all the IV's she rushed out of the room, returning with a doctor. "Take it easy", they had told him. He had sustained multiple gunshot wounds, which had led to sepsis. That's why they had attached him to various IVs of antibiotics and chemicals. They assured him that he would be okay, but left him short on answers of what the hell happened to him. "They will tell you later" was the only answer he got.

John, still tired and beaten down by his numerous injuries, quickly blacked out again. When he woke up again, he was surrounded by several military officers, each wearing a uniform of deep navy blue. He was in no mood for a debriefing, but they had insisted. And so he laid there, recounting the nightmare, and the bodies, and the bullets. After they had finished interrogating him, he asked a simple question: "What happened exactly? Who…is responsible?"

"At the moment, that's classified" one of them spoke up, enraging John. He had almost died down there, many **had** died down there, and they told him he couldn’t know? John felt a wave of anger growing in his chest, but he was simply to beaten to act on it.

When they got up to leave, he asked another question, his voice hoarse from talking so long. "Did…did you find any of the civilians in barrack 23?" he had asked hopefully. One of the men turned around while the others continued to walk out of the room. He looked to the floor before looking back at John and replying "I don't know the layout of the base, so I can't answer about any specific building. But if there were any civilians alive on the base, we have yet to find them." The man turned back around before John could ask another question and left the room.

_They're…they're dead because I left them,_ were his only thoughts as he drifted off to sleep. In his dreams, he was back in a lavish office, sitting in a soft leather chair. On the walls hung the familiar but repulsive paintings of nature; it was Remington's office.

"You left us to die, Shepard. " stated the aged voice.

"I…I didn't have a choice" Shepard replied, feeling guilty.

"You always have a choice: we choose what we are" replied Remington.

"Then why is my life a nightmare? I didn’t choose this!" Shepard screamed as he spread is he stood up and spread his arms. Gradually, the walls of the office disintegrated. Remington still sat in his chair as they looked around at the fires burning in the distance and the screams that haunted the crisp night air.

"It's what fate gave you. What we do in response determines what we are."

Shepard's vision turned black as his surroundings whirled around him until he was in the warehouse where he had killed Marcus. In front of him stood that very man's ghostly form, coated in blood, still with a sadistic grin on his face. "Shepard, still fighting the good fight?" Marcus stated amusingly before laughing.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" replied Shepard.

"Don't deny it, Shepard, it's why you killed me," answered Marcus. "You didn't like the streets, so you took off. You ran away," he continued.

"It's better than killing people for nothing, asshole. Why can't you leave me alone? You're dead! I killed you!" screamed Shepard as he took a step forward and threw a swing at the man. His fist past through Marcus' translucent form, hitting nothing but air.

"Really, you said you're doing better? How many people have you watched die? How many have you had to kill?" asked Marcus. "And for what? You're no better than me. You're a killer, just like the rest of us" continued Marcus.

"That's… that's not true. They're bad people. Criminals!" Shepard roared.

"And what the hell were you then? You don't get to just wipe 9 years of your life away. They may not know what you did, but I do."

"Fuck you" snarled Shepard.

"You can't escape what you are Shepard. You're a killer and always will be" Marcus said as his form began to vaporize.

* * *

  


Shepard woke up to find someone gently tapping on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw a familiar face, but one he found difficult to put a name on.

"Shepard. Glad to see you're alive" a man stated as he walked into the room. He carried a cane and hobbled slightly as he approached Shepard. His weathered and scarred face looked down on him.

_Anderson, that was his name._ "Commander Anderson? You're alive" he said. He hadn't expected to see the man alive again after the assault on the server building.

"All thanks to you" Anderson responded, much to Shepard's confusion.

"I blacked out. I didn’t save you. I don't even remember what happened to me" replied Shepard.

"Without you, we probably would have never been able to get the defense grid under control" rebutted Anderson.

At the mention of the defense grid, he finally got his first clue at what happened. The people he had spoken with had told him basically nothing of what happened to the colony or how he got here. "It sounds like you know what's going on here. Mind telling me, sir?" asked Shepard.

"Humpf. They've kept you in the dark haven't they."

"Understatement, sir" Shepard responded, a little annoyed at his predicament.

Anderson started to chuckle before he started explaining to Shepard what had happened. "You got Lusac and Cabot to the servers and protected them. They got the servers online after you sealed them in the room. Without you, the colony would have been lost."

"But what happened after I blacked out?" Shepard cried in frustration. He was tired of having his answers deflected.

"The alliance was able to shoot down the enemy cruisers and land reinforcements. They repelled the pirate forces and retook the colony. They found you and me and brought us to the medical station here at Arcturus" replied Anderson.

_We're on Arcturus? But, only those rich politicians live here,_ Shepard thought with slight annoyance. He now felt very uncomfortable knowing that he was in the presence of those that he despised the most. Suddenly, he remembered his question from before, hoping for a better answer from Anderson.

"Did they found the civilians in Barrack 23? Are any of them alive" Shepard asked, allowing hope to creep slightly into his voice.

The look on Anderson's face faltered before he placed a hand on Shepard's shoulder, causing the man a great deal of pain which he silently endured. "Shepard, listen," he said. Taking a deep breath, he continued: "A lot of civilians died in the attack. The military base was hit especially hard. Most of the survivors hid in the city. We didn't find very many soldiers alive on the base, let alone civilians."

"No…no they must be alive. Did they search the barrack? It's only been a few days at most" Shepard asked with desperation.

"Shepard, it has been three weeks. Those missing or unaccounted for have been assumed dead or taken by the slavers. I'm sorry, but there is nothing you can do for them now" Anderson stated, trying to comfort Shepard.

Shepard closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. _I failed them, again._ He had never particularly liked Remington but having to spend that much time made Shepard more attacked to the man than he wanted to admit. In an odd and strange way, the older man had almost been like a father to Shepard. Hearing that he was, for sure, dead struck Shepard hard. It had been another person that Shepard had inadvertently let get close to him and then died. It's why he tried to rarely interact with the other marines, but with Remington, he had no choice. And now he was dead because Shepard blacked out after the mission and couldn’t go back. He felt weak. Pathetic.

Shepard, not knowing how to respond, stayed quiet and refused to say anything more. The silence screamed back at him, almost insulting him. The quiet was shattered as Anderson started speaking again. "I'm…sorry, for your loss. I know you're not the only one who might have lost family or friends in the attack." _Hah, family, ya right._ The thought made him sad before he realized something: these were the same fucking assholes who had taken his family from him. And they had returned, taking away the small amount of normalcy that he had been able to acquire since then.

After a while, which felt like an eternity for Shepard as he sat there and festered in rage, Anderson spoke up again. "But I didn't come here to make small take with you, Shepard. I came to make you an offer." 

"What offer?" Shepard asked with some venom in his voice.

Anderson, a little surprised by Shepard's tone, took a second before responding. _The man's been through a lot, let it slide._ "Your military record is exemplary, and your biotic instructors spoke highly of your determination. More than that, I saw your skills in combat. I think you'd make an excellent candidate for special forces training."

"Wait, what? But sir, I'm just a soldier and there isn't anything special about me" Shepard responded in bewilderment.

"You survived Akuze when no one else did after losing your entire unit. There are few soldiers who can experience something like that and remain sane. On Elysium, you proved your improvisation skills in combat. You're the only reason that the colony is left standing. If we had attempted my strategy, I'm sure we would have all been dead and the colony would be under pirate control. You saved a lot of lives down there, don't sell yourself short."

Shepard was shocked by the offer. He never thought that the brass would care to notice a stupid grunt like him. But both times when it had mattered, he had failed to save the people he was supposed to protect. What kind of track record was that? "Um, thank you for the offer, sir. I don't know what to say, but I have to think about it."

Anderson looked down at the soldier, slightly shocked at his reply. It was an honor just to be sponsored for the program, but Shepard had brushed it off. _Was I wrong in thinking he would be up for it?_ Anderson wondered. He looked around the room before studying Shepard's form. The man clearly felt weak and defeated. Hell, the guy had almost died a couple of times just in the hospital. _Maybe he just needs some time to recover._

"Alright, Shepard. It's good to speak with you again. I think I'll return to my physical therapy, I did break my leg bones. I'll let you rest for now" Anderson said. He turned around and hobbled back out of the room. He couldn't help but feel bad for the soldier.


	8. Desert of the Rea

It had been 4 years. Four years of brutal hell. But now he was here on Torfan. Finally, after more than 20 years of waiting, he would face his old enemy. The shuttle streaked through the world's atmosphere as John looked out the window. The orange-brown world looked vibrant against the black backdrop of space; yet still, the world looked like an ugly dull blot of paint to John. A stain that needed removing from the galaxy, and he was more than happy to oblige.

John Shepard had accepted Anderson's offer on admission to the alliance special forces training soon after his release from the hospital on Arcturus. However, he didn’t get to attend until 6 months later. The alliance thought it was better to parade around one of their military heroes and shower him with medals. They had dragged him from interview to interview, planet to planet, until he was given the Star of Terra on Earth alongside a couple of other soldiers from the Skyllian Blitz. When they had pinned the medal on his chest, his mind silently fumed. He felt like it was a medal for failure, a medal to the man who didn’t manage to die. He had watched too many men die around him and receive no metal, no ceremony but a silent burial, so why should he get one for living. But John shut up and put on a smile as he was instructed. He was one of the alliance's poster boys now, after all.

John had spent the better part of three years climbing the ranks of the N7 program. What was once a fresh and scared recruit was now a battle-hardened veteran out for blood. Many others had dropped out of the program, unable to handle the stresses. But not John; for him, it was a walk in the park compared to what he had already endured. Growing up on the streets made him tougher than most, but few had seen actual combat. John, however, had already been in two combat situations, already survived where most had died. The innocent, hopeful, and lanky John Shepard of the streets had been completely replaced by a sociopathic, ruthless, mountain of a man. John's body had grown another couple of inches, putting him at 6'' 4', and he had packed on muscle, giving him a robust yet strong frame. Scars long since healed from bullet holes and explosions riddled his body.

Private Shepard was now Commander Shepard, and he led his own unit of men now. They would be the shock troopers of this war against the Batarians, a role Shepard wanted to fill. Officially, they were here to maintain their occupation of Torfan, to rat out the terrorists and pirates that hid in caves deep underground. But he would make them pay. They had taken everything from him, and now it was his turn to take everything from them.

* * *

Torfan had been a mess ever since he arrived here. He could care less about the garbage and dirt everywhere, it's what he grew up in after all. But that didn't make guerilla warfare any better. As soon as he landed on the dirtball, they sent him right into action hunting Batarian terrorists and pirates on the remote planet. He and his team now stalked the streets of an almost deserted town, scouting out their next objective.

"Petrarch, do you have eyes on the target? Over?" Shepard whispered into the comm.

"Affirmative. He's walking into the house now" replied Petrarch.

"But Commander, his family is still in there. If we just storm the building, they could get killed" Ricardo spoke up.

Shepard chuckled quietly before responding to the young corporal under his command. "We have a mission to do. If we wait, more humans die. Do you want that, Corporal?" asked Shepard in a flippant tone.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir" replied Ricardo.

 _I swear, the next time this kid tries to stop us, I'm going to put a bullet in his head,_ Shepard thought to himself. He currently waited in the shadows of the dirty alley. It was almost night time, but he could see the remnants of the sun setting in the distance, casting eerie shadows all along the walls.

"Charters, Bloom, and Ricardo, you're with me. Be at the front door. Petrarch and Watkins, watch the back and make sure no one runs out. Over?" Shepard asked.

"Copy that sir" Shepard heard over the comm as he exited the alley and made a left turn. Each step he took kicked up dust from the unpaved streets. The building looked old and very worn. The dim lights inside lit up the opaque windows, allowing Shepard to only see the Shadows of movement inside.

* * *

Samak Grad'belak had just returned from a long day of work. He had woken up before the sun had risen and only returned after it started to set. He kicked off his boots, sending plumes of dust into the air. Originally, he had tried to clean up after himself, but it was useless. The dust was everywhere: coating the windows, on the floor, and in the air. His tired legs carried him into the foyer and he approached the chair, eager to sit down. Suddenly, he heard someone call him. "Daddy…" he heard as he heard small feet strike the ground rapidly. As he turned around, his little girl collided with his legs, almost buckling them; but he stood fast and picked her up, swinging her around. For a tired man, the sight of seeing his daughter again filled him with energy and life. "Celea" he whispered in her ear, "how've you been?"

The little girl giggled quietly at her father's question. Before she could answer, her mother rushed into the room and scooped the girl from her father's arms. She wore a faded red dress, worn thin in some places. "Come Celea, leave your father alone. He's had a long day."

"But mommy…" Celea started to say before her mother cut her off. "No Celea, come with me."

"Honey, it's alright. Leave Celea with…" Samak had started to before all hell broke loose.

* * *

"On my mark. Three, two, one! Go," Shepard whispered to his team over the comms as he smashed a window and threw in a flashbang grenade. Ducking to avoid the blast, we waited until the grenade went off with a lot bang. Shepard got back up and body slammed the door while surrounded in biotics. The door was torn off its hinges and broke into several pieces as it hit the ground. He burst through the doorway followed by two soldiers behind him, all with their assault rifles raised. Thick smoke clouded the air and mixed with the dim lights, creating a brown haze around all of them. Loud, high-pitched screaming pierced the air, a sound that Shepard found maddening. They rushed forward, and Shepard noticed a shadow through the smoke, holding something in the air.

"Drop what's in your hands! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR NOW" Shepard screamed as he approached the figure. They rapidly approached the figure, and as the figure's hands were still wrapped around something, he swung the butt of his rifle into their head, dropping them to the floor. _Where is that screaming coming from?_ Shepard thought angrily. He realized that it was coming from directly below him. The other soldiers continued through the house, checking each room while Shepard stood over the body under him. As the smoke cleared, he realized that the figure he had knocked down wasn't just a person, it was a person holding a child…

 ** _A Batarian child,_** he suddenly realized, instantly causing him to lose any sympathy. Shepard continued walking forward, scanning the room. Suddenly, he found himself tackled to the ground. The looming figure futilely put both his hands around Shepard's throat, trying to strangle him through the armor. "Leave my family alone!" the man screamed before Shepard bashed him in the head with his gauntleted fist. The man collapsed on top of Shepard, who rolled the heavy body off of him. He got up and saw the rest of the soldiers returning from clearing the house.

"House is clear, commander. Only the three of them. What now" Petrarch asked.

"Tie the man to that chair," Shepard ordered as he pointed to a plastic chair. "Bloom, restrain that bitch and shut that kid up before I blow both their heads off" Shepard snarled.

"Yes, sir!" they both responded quickly, eager to not disappoint their commander. Petrarch started dragging the man's body. Once he was secured, Shepard walked over to the dazed figure, still recovering from Shepard's punch. A light trickle of blood ran down the side of his head, but Shepard knew the man was alive. Shepard took off his helmet before bringing his hand to the man's chin and pulling his head upwards, forcing the Batarian to look him in the eyes. "Where is it?" Shepard asked.

The Batarian's eyes, although glazed, stared at him with intense hatred. "Leave my family alone!" the man screamed as he struggled against his restraints.

"I'm only going to ask one more time. Where is the resistance's weapons cache?" Shepard asked in a calm voice. Shepard was only going to give the man one chance anyway, best he at least does it politely.

"What the hell are you talking about human? I don't know anything about any weapons cache, I work the mines" he screamed.

"Wrong answer," Shepard said as he grabbed the Batarians head and drove his thumb into his lower left eye, gouging it out. The man screamed in pain as blood ran out of his eye socket, the eye having been turned to mush.

"You have three eyes left. I hope we can come to a deal" Shepard slyly stated. He was quickly running out of patience with the Batarian. He would have killed the man already if he didn't need the information first. Every second Shepard had to spend in that stench infested dwelling angered him further.

"What the fuck…please, I don't know anything, I swear" begged the man, fear and despair percolating his voice. Shepard sighed deeply before turning around and walking towards the woman and her child. One of Shepard's men stood guard in front of them, and Shepard shooed him to the side. As the Batarian man realized what Shepard was doing, he started screaming again. "Please…leave them alone. They haven't done anything!"

As Shepard approached, the Batarian woman's grasp on her child tightened and the child started to scream loudly. _He doesn’t gag the one that's going to scream. What the fuck was the point?_ Shepard grabbed the woman's arm and started dragging her back to the man, bringing the child she clutched along with her. She struggled as she was dragged, her muffled screams still sounding, and Shepard turned around and kicked her in the gut several times. Satisfied that she was sufficiently dazed, he continued to drag her.

Shepard let go of her arm and approached the man again, crouching on his knees as he sighed. "Where is it?" Shepard asked.

"I…I don't know" the man cried. He still struggled against his restraints, but it was hopeless. Satisfied that he would need to use more persuasive methods, Shepard got up and unholstered his pistol, pressing the barrel into the woman's head as he pulled her body up the arm again.

"I'm not going to ask again," Shepard said coolly as he turned his head back towards the man, unfazed by the entire situation.

Several seconds passed, the only sound the quiet whimpering coming from the woman on the floor. Seeing g that the man still wasn't cooperating, he turned his head back towards the woman and started to squeeze the trigger. Just before the gun would have fired, the man screamed out: "Wait…pllleeeasssse."

Shepard returned his gaze back to the man, waiting for him to elaborate. His gun, however, was still firmly pressed into the side of the woman's head. "I…I don't know. Not really. But there is a convoy of trucks that heads out at midnight each month to the place. I can't tell you where they leave from" the man begged.

"Then give me the place" demanded Shepard in a harsh, unyielding voice.

"There's a small factory near the western edge of the town. They…they smuggle in weapons with their shipments of raw materials" the man mumbled quietly, feeling ashamed of divulging the information. "Now please, let my family go" the man wailed.

"You know what… I believe you" stated Shepard. "I will let them go" Shepard replied in a sarcastic voice. The sarcasm being undetected by the man, as he slouched back in the chair, visibly relieved. Shepard let go of the woman's arm, dropping her back down on the floor before pulling the trigger. Blood and bits of brain exploded across the floor. The little girl started to scream at the top of her lungs. And the Batarian man stared at his wife's body for a good 5 seconds before screaming "NOOO…YOU FUCKING HUMAN SCUM"

He struggled against his restraints, his anger and rage visible through his thrashing. The little girl still screamed "MOMMY" on the floor, and cried and wailed. One of the soldiers came behind Shepard, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Commander…she wasn't the target…" Ricardo spoke up.

"I'LL KILL YOU, I SWEAR" screamed the Batarian, shaking in rage.

"See Ricardo, all they know is violence. That's why we need to stop them first" Shepard said rather casually. "All these sick bastards have down is kill humans. That's why we're here: to stop them" Shepard continued.

"But…but she wasn't involved" Ricardo responded, shocked.

Shepard was really getting annoyed at this soldier now. Debating his orders at every turn was going to get someone killed sooner or later. "Of course she was involved. And so is he" Shepard replied as he pointed at the man. "You heard him say it himself. And you know what we do with pirates and terrorists: THEY DIE" Shepard roared.

Shepard held out his Carnifex for the soldier to take. Ricardo looked at the gun, dumbfounded. Shepard waited a second before speaking with an annoyed voice; "Take. The Gun. Ricardo."

Fearful of his commander's reaction, he reached out and grabbed the handle of the gun.

"Now shoot him" Shepard ordered as he pointed at the Batarian, his gaze still focusing on Ricardo.

Ricardo turned to face the man, lifting the gun and pointing it at his head. "You humans…you're no better than us. Fuck you" the Batarian screamed. Ricardo hesitated. He couldn’t pull the trigger.

"Pull the trigger, Ricardo. Or are you disobeying a direct order now?"

Ricardo was scared. He had heard rumors about the commander's background. He had watched the vids of what he had done on Elysium. That man wasn't afraid to kill anything in his way, and that included him. Ricardo looked back at the Batarian man, meeting his three remaining eyes, before pulling the trigger twice, shooting him in the chest. He held out the gun for Shepard to take, unable to meet Shepard's face.

Shepard took back his Carnifex, patting the man on his back. "You'll make a fine soldier Ricardo. Just follow my lead" Shepard said.

The others in the room looked towards their commander, waiting for their next order. "What do we do with the kid?" inquired one of the soldiers. The little girl still wailed quietly on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

"We could just leave her here to die. But maybe she won't. And she'll be killing humans one day if she does live" Shepard replied. "I can't let that happen." Shepard crouched on his knees. "I'm sorry…but you will end up like me. And I don't want that" Shepard whispered to the girl. The room was quiet for a moment, only the sounds of quiet whimpering disturbing the silence. Then a shot rang out. And then the room was truly silent.


	9. Shinigami

"Charlie company, you're a go" Shepard spoke into the comm. He sat in a Mako's passenger seat next to Commander William Calley. Calley was at the wheel of the Mako but had it currently parked in some tall brush. "Assume hostility. They're active pirates or pirate sympathizers" Calley elaborated.

"So, how many heavy weapons do you think we're going to find" inquired Shepard as he kicked his feet up on the dashboard. There was no one else in the Mako after all.

"I don't know man. God knows what those Batarians are capable of" Calley responded. Calley and Shepard had both been placed in charge of overseeing this mission. Nothing made them happier than dolling out justice on the Batarians.

"Nah, they're terrible. Trust me on that" Shepard retorted. The soldiers normally under Shepard's command were under another commander leading Charlie squad on the ground. Being the more senior commanders, and more awarded, they decided to direct the attack from the Mako. And besides, if a battle got heated, who wouldn’t want to drive into the middle of it with a cannon on their roof.

"Well, we all know what they did to you on Elysium. Everyone respects you for that."

"They made me an orphan too. Batarians are a plague; they're only good to get rid of" Shepard responded, a little ticked off that he had to bring up his past.

"Can't blame you. Everyone knows their fucking animals. And I'm sick of the alliance trying to play nice with all the other aliens too. I mean, especially the Turians, after the First contact war."

"Politicians just want to get rich by sucking some alien tentacles. But when shit goes wrong, normal people pay the price. They call Terra Firma radical, but at least they're true to humanity" Shepard argued.

"Nah, nah, I totally agree with you. If Terra Firma ran things, we could have been done on Torfan a while ago" Calley added.

Just as they were about to continue the conversation, their comms sounded. "It's Thompson. Secured the village and rounded them up. Over?"

Calley revved the Mako's engine before taking off. "Ya, we're on the way. Any problem's?" Shepard responded.

"Negative, we're clear over here. Only some small firearms, but they didn’t fire" Thompson answered.

The Mako jumped as it cleared a ditch, flinging Shepard into the Mako's roof. _Damn it, should have worn that harness,_ Shepard scolded himself as he rubbed the top of his head.

Within the next minute, the Mako pulled up to the village and they got out. An entire company of soldiers was in the villages square, surrounding a couple of hundred Batarians. The villagers were all on their knees and had their hands behind their head.

"I see you wasted no time in showing them who's boss, Thompson" Shepard spoke as he clapped the other commander on the shoulder.

"They have no serious weapons on them, so we're safe for now" Thompson replied.

"You did a good job. Break the company up into teams and send them to search their houses" Calley told Thompson.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and if they want to take anything of value, they're obliged to" Shepard added.

"…of course, commander" Thompson replied, a little off-put by the remark.

Thompson directed the men through the comms, and most of them dispersed to the houses, in search of weapons. A few soldiers remained with the three commanders, guarding the villagers.

Shepard approached the villagers, standing next to another soldier. "Have they tried anything?" Shepard asked in a low voice.

"Nothing yet, sir" he responded.

Shepard read his name tag, _Sgt. Michael Bernhardt._ "If they try anything, and I mean anything, shoot them without hesitation" Shepard stated in a low voice.

"What the hell is this for, human?" screamed a Batarian man close to them. "What did we even do?"

"Everything" Shepard responded, "and if you don't shut your mouth, I'll shoot it off."

"Screw you, human" yelled another Batarian near the center of the crowd. Shepard's eyes flicked upwards, searching for who said that, but failing to find the offender. Shepard unholstered his shotgun, extending it and holding it with two hands. It's familiar weight felt good in his hands, and he almost wanted to unload the trigger too…

Shepard took a step forward, daring anyone to try anything to give him an excuse.

* * *

"Commander, our teams found some guns" Thompson reported in.

"What're we talking about here" Shepard replied.

"Nothing major, but some light assault rifles, a couple of pistols," he stated.

Shepard stood there and fumed. He had suspected, no…wanted, there to be weapons here. He had convinced himself that there would be weapons here. He wanted nothing more than to kill all of them. With or without evidence, he believed that these Batarians supported the Hegemony and their pirate groups. To find nothing…enraged him. "No, that's impossible! Search again! Burn those houses down if you have to" Shepard ordered.

"But sir, we can't do that. The villagers would rebel!" Thompson tried to say.

"I don't care! There are weapons here, we just need to find them. That's a direct order!" Shepard screamed.

"Yes…yes, sir" Thompson replied weakly, suddenly afraid of the other commander. Thompson ordered his men over the comms again to go back and search the houses.

Hearing the commotion in front of them, a Batarian spoke up: "Typical human. They don't find what they're looking for, so they destroy our homes." Murmurs of discontent passed through the crowd, spreading like wildfire. Shepard heard the harsh whispers, felt the undertones of anger, all directed at him. "Shut the fuck up! All of you! Now!" Shepard screamed in rage, punctuating his request by firing his shotgun into the air.

The crowd instantly grew silent for a moment. Tension hung in the air, each side waiting for the others next move. A young Batarian near the edge of the crowd picked up a small rock at his feet. It was jagged, with multiple spiky protrusions surrounding its form. He quickly stood up and lobed it at one of the soldiers, hitting him in the helmet. The soldier stumbled from the impact, dropping to one knee. Another person near the edge of the crowd threw another rock, hitting him in the back. The soldier fell forward from the impact, startled and angry.

A Batarian rose, followed by another, and then another. "Get back on your knees, now!" screamed Thompson, fear evident in his voice. But instead of sitting down, the nearest villager rushed Thompson, hands outstretched for the gun. Thompson pulled the trigger on his assault rifle, but the villager had already reached him and pointed his assault rifle away from him. But bullets still flew, and they hit home, striking a Batarian to his left. Thompson struggled against the Batarian in front of him, desperately trying to regain control of his rifle. He gritted his teeth as his muscles strained, but the Batarian in front of him was stronger than he had expected. His hands gradually slipped from the rifle, causing him to redouble his efforts. But then he was tackled by another Batarian. Thompson tried to remove the figure off of him, but he knew he would die in a matter of seconds. He could hear shots echo through the courtyard, hopefully from the other soldiers. Suddenly, he heard a shotgun blast from behind him, and then the Batarian above him was flung into the other. He felt a hand grab his arm and drag him back. Another group of Batarians charged, but another shotgun blast sounding from above his head, hitting many of the charging foes.

Thompson found himself hauled to his feet. Screams could be heard around him and the gunfire was omnipresent. He stared at the person in front of him, the person who had saved him from almost certain death. His helmet was slightly crumpled on one side, but he looked relatively uninjured. He recognized the man: Shepard. The other commander reached behind his back and produced an assault rifle, tossing it towards Thompson. Without a second glance, Shepard walked past Thompson and continued to fire.

And just as quickly as the revolt began, it ended. A couple of dozen mutilated bodies littered the floor, oozing blood in puddles. The other soldiers had regained control of the situation, and the remaining villagers were still on their knees. Most of them hadn't participated, with many of the attackers being overzealous young men. All that remained were women, young children, and some older men. The soldiers in the courtyard all had their weapons drawn and pointed towards them. The villagers cried silently, tears streaming down their face as they looked at the bodies that littered the floor.

Shepard saw a body lying on the floor. But it was wearing armor. It was an alliance soldier. His hands were wrapped around his throat, trying to stop the bleeding stemming from a blade protruding from his throat. The person was lost, he knew that. _Another one lost to these filthy creatures._ "Execute them, all" Shepard spoke into the comm. The soldiers looked at one another, unsure of the order. Thompson walked up to Shepard; "Shepard, are you sure? The remaining people pose no threat" he replied. "Didn't they just try to kill?! These people are a threat that needs to be eliminated. That's AN ORDER!" he roared. The Batarians in the crowd cried out: "No…no you can do this. We didn't do anything" they pleaded. But it fell on death ears. Shepard stepped forward and started firing.

The other soldiers were still reluctant to fire, frozen in their tracks by guilt. But someone else started to fire, and then another one. And soon they all succumbed to the violence. Bodies dropped to the ground as people screamed. Some tried to run away, only to be mowed down by a heavy machine gun. Someone threw a grenade into the center, and body parts were sent flying into the air in a shower of blood. When the final body dropped, the shots gradually stopped until an eerie silence filled the air. Many of the soldiers looked at the pile of bodies, and then looked at one another. **What had they done?**

"Si…sir, what do we do know" Shepard heard a voice speak behind him. It was Commander Calley, but even he was out of the water here. Only Shepard remained stoic, his emotions unchanged. "If we found all the weapons, lets head out. I think we removed the threat" Shepard said casually. The others who had heard him were shocked; not only with the nonchalant attitude of the order but their complicities in this entire mess.

* * *

(3 months later, Alliance Forward Operating base)

Shepard sat quietly in the mess hall, eating his breakfast. A mound of salty eggs and toast on the side. His omnitool beeped, and that could only mean one thing: another mission. He shoveled the remaining food in his mouth quickly and disposed of his tray. He walked out of the mess hall and started walking towards the exit of the building. He opened his omnitool, looking for the assignment. But he didn't find one. Instead, it was a meeting requested by the base's general. That could only mean something very good or something very wrong.

He looked down at his clothes: standard alliance fatigues. He figured he might want to be in alliance dress uniform, and raced to his barrack. He only had 20 minutes to get there. He rushed into his barrack and ran towards his locker. Ricardo was there, lying aimlessly in a cot. "What's all the rush for, Shepard?" he mumbled, still sleepy.

"Not sure, but I have a meeting" Shepard responded as he hastily changed his clothes.

"For what? With who?" Ricardo asked, suddenly curious.

"General Pershing. And no idea" Shepard responded as he buttoned up his uniform.

"Are you getting a promotion, or are you in trouble" Ricardo inquired.

"If I knew, I wouldn’t be so nervous, now would I" Shepard snapped back. Ricardo quietly chuckled at the almost comedic scene of his commander changing his clothing. As soon as Shepard finished, he raced back outside the barrack. He looked at his watched as he sprinted towards the building; _5 minutes to spare, thank god._

He rushed in the door and approached the reception desk. "I'm Commander Shepard and I have a meeting with General Pershing" Shepard stated as he tried to catch his breath. "Yes, of course," the officer replied. "He's been" the man started to say, but stopped as he watched the man roughly readjust his dress uniform _. Why's it look like crap. That's an L._ Shepard's eyes popped back up when he noticed the officer stop speaking. Under the intense glare, the officer was prompted to continue; "he's been expecting you. Uh…I'll show you to his office" the officer finished.

As the officer got up, he looked closer on the medals pinned to his chest before reading his name tag. It was Commander Shepard; _THE SHEPARD!,_ he suddenly realized as he snapped to attention and saluted. "Comm…Commander Shepard, I didn’t realize it was you" the man stated nervously.

Shepard saluted back before replying. "It's alright. I'd rather avoid all the attention if it's all the same to you."

"Of course sir" he mumbled before leading Shepard down the hallway. He approached a door with a steel nameplate engraved with a name; 'General Pershing' it read. _Well, this is it,_ Shepard told himself as he waited patiently with the officer for the door to open. After a couple of seconds, a man opened the door. Both the officer and Shepard came to attention and saluted the older man. He had greying hair, but his frame still looked strong for someone that old.

"Commander Shepard, pleasure to meet you in person" Pershing responded as he held out his hand. Shepard shook his hand before responding: "likewise, sir."

"Thank you for showing him the way, Private Stevenson" Pershing spoke to the officer, dismissing him. The officer saluted once more before turning around and hurrying back to his post at the reception desk. Pershing opened the door wider and motioned for Shepard to enter. The room was rather utilitarian; ugly brown paint covered the brick walls and most of the furniture was metal and plastic. Shepard stepped inside the room and stood at parade rest, waiting for Pershing's next move.

"Commander Shepard, thank you for coming so soon. Please, have a seat" inclined Pershing as he pointed at one of the chairs with his arm. Shepard sat down as instructed, and Pershing walked around to his desk before taking a seat. Shepard looked at the man's old face: wrinkles lined his forehead, dark bags were under his eye, and his eyes had the slight opaqueness that comes with age. But most concerningly was the grimace his mouth held. That did not bode well for the commander. His body stiffened in the chair and he clasped his hands, squeezing them together as if that would make the problem go away.

"Shepard…" the man sighed as he sat down in his chair. The chair creaked as it was saddled with the new weight. "Something has come to my attention that I think needs to be discussed before the issue gets out of hand" Pershing stated.

 _Shit. What is it now?_ Shepard thought in his mind. "Yes, sir. And what would that be?" Shepard inquired.

"Three months ago, you were sent to a small Batarian settlement with Commander's Thompson and Calley, is that correct?" Pershing asked.

"Yes, sirrrrrr" Shepard stated cautiously, his tone heightening at the end of the statement, almost as if to form a question.

"Well, I'm not sure how to put this, but some soldiers have come forward with stories other than what was put in your report" Pershing continued, accusingly.

Shepard's eyes fixed on Pershing with an intense glare. He was concerned about the direction the conversation was headed in and tried to defend himself. "Well sir, as I'm sure you probably now, combat can be a hectic situation. Soldiers can get disoriented, uh, confused. I've seen it happen before, as I'm sure you have" Shepard responded.

"Of course. But can I continue, if I may?" Shepard nodded his head solemnly, begrudgingly acknowledging the man. "But someone came forward with more than just a different story" Pershing stated. He clicked the holo-interface on his desk, and it sprung to life. A video started to play, and they both watched it intently. It was of a group of soldiers, soldiers firing their weapons at unarmed civilians. Shepard thought one of the soldiers in the video looked familiar. _That's me…_ Shepard thought, suddenly worried. There was only one reason that he would want to have such evidence, let alone speak to me about it. Shepard was at a loss about how to respond. All he could do was wait for Pershing to say something.

"I've conducted an investigation, commander. I have evidence from the site, as well as the video evidence you just saw. I have also spoken with other soldiers involved in the incident" Pershing elaborated. Shepard gulped, and for the first time in a long time, he was afraid of what might happen. "Have you nothing to say, Commander?" Pershing asked.

"We…we responded to active hostiles on the field, sir. I don't regret a thing."

"I understand Shepard…but I have all the evidence; and there is a lot of it, no matter how hard you tried to hide it" Pershing sighed. He still hadn't made up his mind about what to do with the commander. The man had served valiantly on Torfan, and his service record was impeccable. He had saved a lot of human lives. But if he allowed Shepard to continue on Torfan, he could very well worsen the course of the war unintentionally. His past made him a liability. "Most soldiers would have been court marshaled and discharged already, Shepard."

Shepard looked down at the ground, expectantly waiting for the ax to drop. He was about to get court marshaled over a bunch of Batarians. Even in death, it seemed they could still ruin his life. "Sir?" Shepard asked in a low voice. His life was going to be all over now. He would have to start a new again in some corner of the galaxy. But he didn’t know if he had the strength to do it again. All he had was his military career, and he had worked his ass off for that. He wasn't sure he had the strength or drive to start all over again. _Mercenary, maybe?_ he wondered. _No, my legacy has been fighting mercs. They would kill me on the spot…_ The gears in Shepard's mind turned. He was afraid his new life would be taken from him with no substitute.

"Shepard…you've put me in a tough position here. I know your history with the Batarians is not great. But you're a liability as much as you are an asset in this war. The Batarians are in an uproar about this, Commander."

"I…I don't know what to say, sir, except that I did my job and I did it damn well."

Pershing sighed, thinking over his decision once more; there must be a middle ground here. He didn’t want to be the general who court marshaled the alliance's poster boy. To be honest, the backlash to the military if Shepard's story got out would make him suffer political blowback as well. It was better to keep it under wraps than have to report this. To be honest, he didn't care that a bunch of Batarians died, and he wasn't going to ruin a soldiers career over it. Especially this soldier.

"Listen, Shepard… I think we can come to an arrangement that works for both of us here" Pershing offered. Shepard's head perked hope, a spark of hope was ignited in his mind. "If you agree to be pulled from active deployment on Torfan, I can let this whole thing slide."

A flood of emotions entered Shepard's mind. He was relieved that he wouldn't get into too much trouble over this; a public display was the last thing he wanted, especially after the reputation he had built for himself. However, being pulled from active deployment struck him hard in the gut. "But sir, where would I go?" Shepard asked.

Pershing took a deep breath before continuing. "Probably stationed on a base somewhere in a quiet colony. Maybe a security detail on Arcturus or Earth. I'm not sure."

Shepard sat there and fumed. "So I'm going to be a glorified guard?" Shepard spat back in disgust.

"Commander, it's the best deal you have on the table right now. Besides, a lot of alliance ships are still out there looking for good soldiers to lead their ground teams. I'm sure you'll get a new position in no time. But for now, the best thing for everyone on this base is you leaving. The longer you stay here, the more questions there will be, by our side and the Batarians" Pershing answered.

Shepard slouched in his chair, visibly upset over this predicament. But he had little choice, and he knew that. _I could destroy the evidence, maybe kill Pershing and the others before it gets out…No, no, no. That's impossible, and that would only lead back to me._ He tried to ponder the decision, but it was futile. Giving up, he let out a deep breath before responding to Pershing. "General, I…I don't really think I have a choice here. But I can live with your arrangement" Shepard said, the words feeling like poison as he spoke them.

When Pershing heard Shepard's response he was taken aback. He had half expected the man to try and kill him and destroy the evidence but was relieved that the Commander had so easily agreed to the arrangement. "Well then Commander, I'm glad to hear we can make a deal. This will be firmly swept under the rug. You'll be leaving Torfan within the week, so stay posted" Pershing instructed as he held out his hand.

Shepard shook Pershing's hand, but he felt dead inside. Now he'd be a guard for the politicians he had always despised. That wasn't his purpose… his purpose had always been to find and kill the people responsible. Responsible for Mindoir, Akuze, Elysium. And now he had failed again. Failed to avenge what was taken from him and find closure.


	10. Diplomacy

(16 October 2181; Systems Alliance Headquarters, Earth)

"Yes…yes of course. I'll definitely be at the fundraiser, Ambassador. Thank you, I hope to speak to you again soon."

Shepard stood to the left of the doorway and fumed. He hated having to listen to political bullshit every day of the week. To him, it sounded like they were more effective at planning parties than anything else. No wonder everything sucks. His arms hung at his side and he held his assault rifle with one arm. Was it proper? Definitely not. Was it dangerous? Probably. Did he care? Not in the slightest.

"Shepard, would you mind coming here" requested Kirk Pittman. Shepard sighed before he got off of the wall he was leaning on. He walked into the room, shoulders slouched and arms still at his side. Kirk had been surprised that **this** was the great commander Shepard; everyone had heard the stories about him on Elysium and Akuze, but meeting him in person was something else entirely. Kirk had expected a seasoned, well-disciplined soldier who was good at following orders. Not this…

"What is it, Mr. Pittman?" Shepard asked.

"I will be meeting with an old friend in my office soon to discuss some important matters. Would you mind bringing us two large coffees down the block from Fresno's, one with milk and sugar, one with skim milk and no sweeteners?"

 _Do I look like a fucking waiter to him! I can kill him in twenty different ways right now! If I could just get away with it…_ Shepard's thoughts rambled on. "Well?" Kirkman asked again.

"Sure" Shepard stated with much ambivalence.

"Oh, and make sure your back in 10 minutes, the meeting starts soon."

Shepard turned around and walked out of the room. He **HATED** that man. But he was stuck here until the brass gave him a new assignment. Initially, Shepard just toughed it out, hoping that his predicament would be over soon. But it was six months later…and Shepard was still stuck with this stupid guard job on Earth. Why should he have to sacrifice his life to save some stupid politicians at the Alliance headquarters? He holstered his rifle, best not walk into public with it in his hands. He looked down at the time on his omnitool: _you gave me 10 minutes; son of a bitch._

Shepard thought about running but decided it wasn’t worth it. In the beginning, Shepard had tried to be nice to Kirkman. He was a politician after all, and maybe he could get Shepard out of here. And so he did everything Kirkman asked for. But Shepard just felt abused: he was supposed to be guarding the man, not be his personal butler. Shepard quickly lost patience for the work.

Shepard's boots made loud claps with every step on the marble floor. He scanned the paintings with gold-trimmed borders for the millionth time as he navigated the hallways. Eventually, he approached the guarded exit, complete with a security checkpoint. It was in a massive circular atrium, lined with limestone pillars 3 stories high. The sight was magnificent the first time he saw it, but like everything in this building, he quickly lost his patience for it. He pulled up his building ID on his omnitool and approached one of the guards. He leaned back in his chair situated next to a metal detector.

"Carson, I gotta run an errand again. I'll be back soon" Shepard called out.

He swiveled in his chair to face the voice, quickly making eye contact with Shepard. "Is it his dry cleaning again?"

Shepard stuck his middle finger at him and just kept walking, not even bothering to respond.

* * *

Shepard looked at the time. He should have been back at the headquarters by now. "Would you like your receipt, sir?" the barista asked as she handed him the drink tray.

"NO! I mean no thank you" Shepard said as he turned around and bolted out of the coffee shop. Kirkman was not going to be happy. But Shepard couldn’t control the size of the line. It stretched outside the shop! What was he supposed to do? Shepard dashed down the street, weaving in-between people walking in both directions. He brushed shoulders with a man briefly, causing the poor guy to stumble back. "Sorry" Shepard called back as he continued down the street. Shepard reached the intersection, with the building being just across the street. But the light was red… _Oh, come on!_

He could walk through traffic, but he didn’t think that would be a good idea. So he impatiently waited for the light to turn green again. As soon as it did, he pushed people out of the way and started running again. He crossed the street and approached the buildings grand staircase. _I don't have time for this_ , Shepard told himself as he approached the stairs running and jumped with his biotics, clearing the entire thing in one go. Unfortunately, he hadn't considered the coffees in his hand. The brown liquid sloshed up and out of the cover, coating his hands, the cups, and the try. Shepard groaned.

He grabbed at the door handle and flung the door open, rushing inside. "Woah, Woah… slow down there Shepard" Carson called, and another guard started laughing. "I need ID, please," said the other guard. _You're fucking joking._ Shepard was not in a good mood. He tried to bring up the ID on his omnitool, having to use his elbow to try and control it. But he kept clicking the wrong icons. He sighed in frustration, causing Carson to start laughing, almost wheezing. "Carson, please give me a break. I'm already late" Shepard pleaded.

"Al…alright…you…you cannnn…go…haha" Carson tried to get to say as he laughed at Shepard's predicament. _I'm so getting him back later._  
Shepard started jogging down the hallway, back towards Kirkman's office. He looked down at the coffee, remembering the mess that coated the cups. He made a detour for the restroom and walked in. Thankfully it was empty. He set the tray on the sink's counter and removed the cups. Next, he grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them under the sink. He cleaned the sides of each cup quickly, before throwing the paper towels and the drink tray into the trash. He grabbed the coffees, one in each hand, and exited the bathroom. He bumped into another diplomat, who gave him a strange look. _Fuck you too, asshole._ Shepard navigated the hallways, delicately holding the cups of coffee in order to avoid a mess, a mask of hatred plastered on his face. _I'm going to kill that man…_

* * *

Anderson hated these meeting. But orders were orders, and he had to follow them. "Thank you for joining me, Captain Anderson." 

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Pittman" Anderson replied as he shook Pittman's hand before taking a seat. The man's office certainly was lavish compared to what he was used to. Pittman had a cherrywood desk, made of real wood planks, lavishly engraved with swirls and spirals on its sides. Behind Pittman's desk and chair, a massive window served as the back wall of his office. The view was quite beautiful and he could see the afternoon sun in the distance…until Pittman sat down in his chair, partially obstructing the view. Anderson inwardly sighed but was careful to not openly show his displeasure.

He still had no idea what this meeting was about, and so he patiently waited for Pittman to start. Once Pittman had adjusted himself in his seat, he began to speak. "So…you must be wondering what this meeting is about, Anderson." All Anderson could do in response is nod head.

"The alliance has been working on a classified project with the Council, and they were interested in having you part take in it. Before I saw anything more, you must understand that this conversation must remain classified for security reasons" Pittman instructed.

"Understood. You have my attention now, I'll give you that" Anderson responded.

"Good to hear" Pittman answered back before continuing. "As part of a co-development project, a secret project was created with the support of the Citadel Council. This project is nearing completion and will require someone to direct it afterward."

"While I am honored to have been recommended, you're not being very descriptive here, Kirk. What is this 'project', exactly?" Anderson interjected.

"A ship" Pittman replied immediately. _Well, that really narrows it done, now doesn’t it,_ Anderson thought sarcastically.

"Kirk, we have ships. I've commanded them before. What makes this one unique exactly, and why have I been chosen?" Anderson replied, pressing Kirk for more information. The atmosphere in the room was quickly getting adversarial, mostly because Anderson didn’t like being kept in the dark. The air in the room was stifling, preventing him from thinking clearly.

"If you'd let me continue, please" Kirkman requested as he spread his arms and loudly sighed. "It's a prototype frigate, first of its kind. Equipped with advanced stealth technology co-developed by the System's Alliance and Turian Hierarchy" he explained.

"So that's you you've been so tight-lipped about this. Cooperating with the Turians would look like we are bending the knee to them" Anderson guessed.

"It’s also why you have been recommended to be its Captain after completion, given your…uh…history dealing with the council and other classified…um…matters" Pittman added, trying to delicately skirt Anderson's past.

Anderson gave Kirkman a hostile gaze at the mention of his 'past'. Not many people knew about it, and he would prefer to keep it that way. "Listen, Anderson, I didn't call this meeting to fight. Would you like the job or not?" Kirkman asked impatiently.

* * *

_Yep, I'm soooo getting fired today,_ Shepard realized as he approached Pittman's door. It was locked shut, meaning his meeting had most likely already started. And the coffee was too late. Shepard leaned his back against the wall and slide downwards, feeling utterly defeated. The few people who did walk by him hurried past, eager to get away from the ticking time bomb that was Shepard. _You know what, if that asshole wants to fire me, I'll throw him out that big glass window of his… asshole. What the hell do I look like, UBER eats?_

Eventually, after 15 minutes, the door opened and two figures stepped out. He could tell one of the men was Pittman, but he couldn’t readily identify the other. The spoke in hushed voices and both had their backs to Shepard. Not liking his vantage point on the marble floor, he stood up, still holding the cups of coffee in both hands. The men shook hands and patted each other on the back before the unidentifiable man turned around. He had dark skin and light wrinkles on his forehead, but his hair remained black, despite the signs of aging. _Anderson…_

Shepard was about to say something but was instantly shut down by Pittman. "No wonder they pulled you off of Torfan! You can't even accomplish the simplest of tasks, Shepard! You can leave for the rest of the day, not like you will be getting anything done."

Out of all the possible embarrassing outcomes Shepard could have imagined, he never expected to be insulted in front of his N7 sponsor. Shepard wanted to drop the cups of coffee, get his hands around Pittman's neck, and strangle the man to death. He would have if Anderson weren't in his way. The last time they had seen each other was over 3 years ago, at Shepard's graduation ceremony. They'd been too busy to catch up ever since, something Shepard now regretted.

 _Shepard? But what the hell is he doing here? I thought he was on Torfan._ Anderson was shocked to see Shepard here. Not that he wasn’t glad to see him again, it was just very odd. Anderson's blood had started to boil at Pittman's comments. Soldiers weren't butlers, and Pittman had damn better understand that. Besides, if he didn’t resolve the situation, Shepard's self-restraint appeared to be hanging by a thread. Anderson turned around to face Pittman again; "Kirk, I suggest you better return to your office. I will not have you disrespecting alliance marines, am I clear" Anderson stated with an icy glare.

"Errrr… we will talk about this later, Anderson" Kirkman huffed before returning to his office. Anderson turned back around and faced Shepard. It had been a long time, and while the man looked the same in many respects, he looked drastically different in many others. His eyes were bloodshot and were surrounded by dark circles; he clearly wasn't getting enough sleep. His hair was poorly kept and longer than it should have been, and a patchwork of rough stubble covered his face, clearly from lack of proper shaving. But one thing stood out the most: the look in the man's eyes. He looked defeated and dead on the inside; almost like someone who had given up on life.

"Shepard, it's been a while. What the hell happened to you?" Anderson asked as he held out his hand. Shepard turned towards the trash receptacle a few feet away from him before tossing the cups inside. _So much for all the hard work…_ His hands now free, he shook Anderson's hand and responded: "politics is a pain in the ass, is all I have to say."

Anderson laughed at Shepard's answer. If the meeting he just had with Pittman was any indication, politics is, indeed, a pain in the ass. "Shepard, it has been a while and I have time to spare. How about we get something to eat and catch up on life?"

"Sounds good" Shepard replied. It was the best god damn plan he had for the rest of the day. After all, Pittman did say he was done for the day; good riddance.

* * *

Shepard attacked the Shawarma in front of him. It was the best god damn food he had eaten in a while. For the past few months, he had resided in cheap takeout, instant noodles, and fast food. While still fit, it had slightly degraded his form. He knew he should have tried to eat healthier, but he never got to it. It was too much effort, and he didn’t know how to cook. As morbid as it was, at least he had the excuse of not having a mother to remind him to eat healthy as a kid. When Shepard looked back up from the sandwich, he was utterly embarrassed. In his initial assault, he had eaten almost half of the sandwich, whereas Anderson had only taken a small bite. Shepard set down his sandwich, took a swig of his soda bottle, and wiped his face with a napkin.

"Um…sorry about that. It's been a while since I've had good food" Shepard apologized. Anderson waved his hand, brushing the comment away. "Nonsense, carry on" he joked, and they both started to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Eventually, Anderson started to talk again. "So, what's happened since the last time we meet? And how'd you end up here?" Anderson asked.

Shepard looked down at the table for a moment, images and flashbacks running through his mind. "I was sent to Torfan for two and a half years. It was a mess, Anderson, a mess" Shepard responded.

"I'm sure you handled it well though. You have been through a lot already. I don't think there is anything you wouldn’t be able to handle, **Commander** " Anderson replied, trying to pick up the soldiers thoughts.

"Well, I mean, it was fine. It was just…a lot of things are hazy. Constant combat does that to you. Some things I… I wish I could have changed" Shepard stated in a low voice. Images and faces rushed through his mind. He remembered all the things he had done, and his mind started to debate itself for the millionth time. _They needed to die. The Batarians took everything from me-- How am I any better than them if I did the exact same thing-- It was revenge: for your parents, for Elysium. I can't forget who started this-- Is this how my parents would want me to remember them?-- How would I even know what they would want from me, they're dead…_

While on Earth for the past couple of months, he had had a lot of time to think. When on the job, he did nothing but stand in silence for the most part. When he returned home, he had nothing to do as well. That left a lot of time for personal reflection. Shepard's eyes turned slightly glassy. He was suddenly glad that the shop was almost empty, and that they were sitting near the back. But he remembered where he was and who he was with; he couldn't break down. Anderson was his one ticket out of here.

Shepard's face hardened back into an impenetrable mask again and his eyes cleared. But not before Anderson caught a glimpse of it. "But it doesn’t matter. I've just been looking to get out of here for the past couple of months, but it has been difficult."

"You never told me though, how did you end up here? Shepard, I've been a soldier for a long time. I can tell when you're hiding something. We all have things we keep hidden, but you have to learn to open up" Anderson offered. He knew the sick irony of his statement; hell, he would probably never tell anyone about his worst regrets while in the military. An entire town lay dead because he couldn’t stop Saren, and it still haunted him.

Shepard pondered what to say; _What **could** I say? I killed civilians because I was mad, and I still don't know if it is right or wrong? Dead faces haunt my dreams? I don't know what to do with my life anymore? Most of my free time is spent sulking on a couch trying to drink away the pain… _Shepard felt lost. He was like the Grim Reaper: anyone around him ended up dead and the others who had died Shepard had killed himself. He thought fighting in the military would give him purpose, an escape from the crime on the streets. But to be honest with himself, he had probably committed more crimes in the military than he ever had in his youth. Shepard had been alive for 27 years, and all he had to show for it was death and destruction. Maybe when he was younger, the action brought him purpose and a semblance of closure. But he was older now, and he felt like he had nothing to show for all his effort.

The closest he had ever gotten to telling someone the complete truth was Remington, back on Elysium, but he was dead. And yet there were things Remington was never told. Shepard wanted to tell Anderson, he badly wanted to let out his pain and regret. _Well, I don't have to tell him everything._

"I was commanding a mission on Torfan almost a year ago. Everything was going according to plan, but we were attacked by Batarian resistance forces and had to retaliate. A lot of civilians were caught in the crossfire, and the Batarians were not happy about it. The general of the occupation thought it best if I wasn't sent off of Torfan to lessen tensions" Shepard explained. The lie felt like acid in his mouth. He knew exactly how they died, and it was because of him. However, he knew he couldn’t say the truth; what little he did have in life would be taken from him swiftly.

Anderson scowled in disgust, "I'm sorry you got taken out by backroom politics. God bless you for surviving this long with these slimy people" reassured Anderson.

_I don't think there is a god, but if there is one, I don't think he blessed me._ "Thank you, Anderson, but it isn't your fault" Shepard replied before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Anderson felt bad for the soldier. So much wasted time and potential over something that wasn't his fault. But maybe he could help. "Shepard, I've got an offer for you. I've got some work over at Terra Nova over the next year. I can't promise that you will be seeing any action, but you won't be dealing with any politicians" Anderson offered.

As soon as Anderson spoke, he stopped chewing. He was relieved to hear the offer. It meant he could get out of here, away from Earth. He swallowed before replying: "Anderson, I would like to accept your offer. It means a lot to me."

"Of course, Shepard. However, there will be a couple of stipulations, most of it pertains to its classification. As long as you pass a security clearance check, you shouldn’t have any problem" Anderson added.

"Sounds good, and thank you again Anderson" Shepard emphasized before taking another sip of his drink. "Ummm… on another note, you seem to have your fingers in all the pies, Anderson. Mind if I ask a question" Shepard prodded hopefully.

Anderson huffed before responding: "Depends what it is, as you probably know. But shoot."

Shepard set down the last bit of his sandwich on the table. His eyes grew distant as they met Anderson's. _Not this again. What has gotten into him?_ Anderson pondered. "Have you heard any updates about what happened on Akuze. It's…been a couple of years, but they've still given me no information about it" Shepard stated meekly.

Anderson sighed and wiped his mouth with a napkin before replaying. "They haven't given you anything because they haven't found anything. I'm sorry, but they have no clues, and it has been so long that no one has bothered to dig it up again."

Shepard nodded his head in defeat. "I see. They've buried it under the rug" Shepard choked out. He could still remember the faces, the screams, the blood. It was as if it had happened yesterday, even all these years later. His friends haunted his dreams every night, begging for justice, begging for the last survivor to avenge them all. And Shepard had failed them.

"Shepard, I understand this is difficult for you to talk about. But you can't torture yourself over this. You aren't responsible. As hard as this must be for you, you need to learn to let go; I'm sure that if they were here, they would tell you the same-"

"But if I don't remember them or try to find those responsible, who will? I'm the last one" Shepard stated bitterly. He could still remember their faces, their screams of help, as if they could be saved even all these years later. And it was eating him up inside.


	11. New car smell

(11 November 2182; Arcturus Station)

"Well, what about Shepard? Earthborn, but no record of his family" Udina sputtered futilely. It had been a long and unfruitful night on Arcturus station. He and his companions had spent hours reading and reviewing military service records and personnel files. The goal: find a possible candidate to be a Council Spector.

"Doesn't have one. He was raised on the streets, learned to look after himself" Anderson corrected. They were in a dark room light only by a single faded lightbulb. Their eyes were strained and tired after reading so long in the dim light. It had been a shock that of all the classified rooms on Arcturus, this was the one they were given.

"He saw his whole unit die on Akuze. He could have some serious emotional scars" warned Admiral Hackett.

"Every soldier has scars. Shepard's a survivor, and he gets the job done. He's the only reason Elysium is still standing" Anderson rebutted.

"But is he the kind of person we should have trying to protect the galaxy" Udina interjected.

"It's the only kind of person who can" Anderson replied.

"I'm still concerned about Shepard's psych profile. The last thing we want is a soldier snapping, especially a possible Specter candidate" responded Udina.

"Well, he has seen combat multiple times. He served two tours on Torfan, and he has several commendations in his file" Hackett considered, oblivious to the truth. He wasn't fully convinced about Shepard, but he wasn't convinced about any of the other possibilities either.

"Wait…" Udina interrupted as he continued to read Shepard's profile. "Is it even wise to let someone who's never been to school be a Specter? I mean, he's going to be the face of humanity after all. How will the Council see this if he can't even read or write?"

"Shepard has had the worst in life thrown at him. And he's fought through it all. Everything he has ever earned he fought for. I think that his determination and fortitude will speak louder than his ability to find trig limits" Anderson asserted. While he would try to remain as unbiased as possible in these deliberations, he wasn't going to let them drag Shepard's character through the mud.

"Hmm… I agree with Anderson. I don't think Shepard is stupid, and he's proved himself on and off the field multiple times. He deserves a chance, just like any of the others" Hackett added.

"I still don't like it" Udina responded.

"He has nothing tying him down, though. All the others have families or loved ones, or aspirations beyond the military. As depressing as it seems, Shepard might be the best person to fill this role: all he **does** have is his military career. And I like that tradeoff. It's what makes him ruthless" Hackett considered out loud.

"All in favor, then?" asked Udina, and all three men raised their hands.

"I'll make the call" Udina stated. He looked at the chrono that hung on the wall. _Damn, it's 11. Been at this for 12 hours. Maybe it'd better get a cup of coffee first._

[]

(4 months later; February 11, 2183; Normandy SR-1)

"No way…you're actually Commander Shepard. I mean, THE Commander Shepard. It's an honor to meet you sir" the man stated giddily as he saluted Shepard _._

 _Oh god. This is going to be a very, very long deployment_ , Shepard told himself before saluting back. "At ease, Corporal. I'm a soldier, not a celebrity."

"Everyone talks so much about you, you're kidding, right? You're N7. You survived Akuze. You and Anderson defeated the pirates on Elysium. And you served four tours on Torfan, of all places. You're a fricking legend!" shouted the ecstatic corporal. He practically bounced off of the walls of the cargo deck, drawing attention to the two of them. Other marines walked towards the scene, interested in meeting the Commander. Shepard had just arrived on the Normandy and carried a small bag with his personal belongings; all he wanted to do was put his weapons in the locker and relax. That didn't seem like it was going to happen as quickly now.

At the mention of Akuze, Shepard's demeanor visibly darkened. They were congratulating him for surviving a massacre like he was getting accepted to Harvard or something. _Maybe if I drag his ass back there, he won't be so cheery about it._ He was chosen to lead the Normandy's ground team after all, so it was only fair he got to run them into the ground when they got out of line. A dozen or so men surrounded him, wide-eyed and whispering to one another. Shepard looked around at their faces, still innocent from the realities of war. As his eyes scanned the deck, he noticed one anomaly. A man with blue armor stood leaning against a weapons bench with his arms crossed. Though a patchwork of rough stubble covered his face, his eyes remained stoic. He made no move to approach Shepard.

"ATTEN-TION! I didn't come here to sign your fucking autographs, now get back to your posts. People like you are the reason shit like Akuze happened in the first place!" Shepard shouted at the mob. The soldiers stood in stunned silence; they had never expected to be shut down by their idol.

They shuffled away from the commander; "he's gonna be one of those" they mumbled under their breath.

Shepard readjusted the bag on his shoulders before approaching the weapons lockers. His eyes only made contact with the floor, hoping to avoid any further incidences. Nothing angered him more than when people called him a hero; it felt like he was being insulted right in his face because deep down, he believed he had caused more carnage than good.

He looked down at his omnitool and brought up the codes for his locker: _45-62-79-12._ Still clumsy with haptic interfaces, even after all this time, he slowly typed in the numbers using one index finger. Shepard pressed the 'open' button, but the interface glowed red instead of green. He tried entering the code again, but the locker refused to open. "Come on, come on. Fucking open already" Shepard sighed with frustration as he slammed the palm of his hand into the locker's door. Shepard looked down at his omnitool before looking back at the locker again, at a loss over what to do. He would have asked one of the other soldiers, but he couldn’t; not only had he shouted them down from his sense of superiority, they had basically all cleared the cargo deck. Shepard smacked the locker again, this time on its haptic interface. Sparks spit back at him, leaving him with light burn marks on his arm.

"Ahh ha ha ha ha" Shepard heard off to his left. He turned his head to face the offender and realized that it was the same man from before. He still had his arms crossed over his chest, but his amusement at Shepard's predicament was clear to see.

"What? Do you think this is funny? Happens every fucking time. Why don’t you open it if you wanna laugh about it?" Shepard spat at the man. The man uncrossed his arms and approached the lockers, amusement still plastered on his face.

"Can I see the code?" he requested gently.

"I already tried that. It isn’t working" Shepard shot back.

"Can I still see it?" he requested again, still maintaining his calm composure. Shepard relented and held out his omnitool for the man to look at. Shepard watched as the man's eyes darted from side to side, scanning the lines of text. After a few seconds, a sigh escaped from the man and he swept the message away on Shepard's omnitool and proceeded to search for another message in his inbox. Shepard instantly pulled his arm away from the man.

"What the fuck…I didn't say spy on my inbox" Shepard accused. Although Shepard had almost no trust in people, Shepard had wanted to give this man the benefit of the doubt since he was alliance, but it seems he was fooled.

"I wasn't spying on you. That's the locker code from your last base. You need the new ones, and I was trying to find them for you" he corrected. "It's that message over there" he added as he pointed his finger at a certain message.

Shepard slowly raised his omnitool and skimmed the offending message. He found the locker codes and read them in his head; _91-53-03-38._ He looked up from the message and met the man's eyes briefly. Shepard started typing in the code with his index finger again, having to restart twice because he clicked the wrong buttons. After entering the code successfully on the third attempt, the lockers lights glowed green and Shepard pulled on the door.

The door made a loud creaking noise as the door swung open, much to Shepard's annoyance. But that was beside the point; the door was open. Shepard looked up from the locker and back to the man, meeting his gaze. His eyes flicked back down to the floor, too ashamed to maintain eye contact. "I…Um…Thank you, uh, for the help" Shepard sputtered. Rarely had he ever been caught so off-guard. He was used to being the one who had all the cards, and he found it difficult to admit that he messed up.

"No problem, Commander" the man replied, still with a positive attitude.

"I'm sorry" Shepard mumbled in a low voice, hoping to end the conversation before he made a bigger fool of himself.

"Don't sweat it. He all have our shitty days, am I right" he replied.

"Ya, ya I guess we do" Shepard answered. _I've had too many of those._

[]

"Entering the relay in three, two, one" spoke the Normandy's pilot as the ship curved towards the superstructure. Blue arcs of energy jumped towards the Normandy's sleek frame as it drew parallel to the mass relay. And then, the Normandy was gone in a burst of speed, transported to the other side of the galaxy.

"The jump through the relay has been completed successfully, captain. Maintaining a drift of thirteen hundred" the pilot spoke into the comm system.

"Hey Shepard, you know the captain, right?" asked the Normandy's pilot. Shepard could best describe the man as being a focal point of informality, but he'd keep his mouth shut for now.

"Sure…" Shepard replied slowly, trying to be cautious of the conversation was about to enter into.

"Why do you think a Specter is on board? He's been saying this is a shakedown run, but I think that's horseshit" Joker asked, almost whispering the last part.

"I don't know. I just get my orders and follow them" Shepard jabbed back.

"You know that's what the Nazi's said, right?" Joker countered with a sneer on his face.

Shepard stepped closer to the pilot's chair and was about to let him have it when he was cut off by Kaiden. "Joker, I think you're pushing it here. This is just a shakedown run."

"But why a council Specter? Shit always happens when they're around. The council could have sent anyone else."

"The council funded this project. They have a right to send whoever they want to oversee it" Kaiden responded.

Shepard stared out the front window of the cockpit; a speckle of color contrasted against the inky blackness of space, garnering his attention as he listened to the conversation. The peaceful view calmed him from Jokers' shenanigans. Still, a discomforting ring of truth was held in Jokers' words _. All I've done is kill people. Am I really any better? No, I've only killed people who deserve it, bad people. But…_ "Sometimes it's better to just do things, Joker. I'm here to point and shoot, not think" Shepard added. _Just do your job, Shepard. Forget about before._ The ringing of his omnitool interrupted his train of thoughts. He sighed before answering it; it was Anderson. "Commander Shepard speaking, sir."

"Shepard, can you meet me in the comm room for the mission briefing in five minutes?" Anderson requested.

"Yes sir, I will be right there" he responded before ending the call. "Alenko, make sure our **pilot** doesn't fly us into the nearest star" Shepard mocked before turning around and walking away.

"Keep me posted" Joker called back gleefully.

 _Where did they find this guy?_ John thought as he walked down the hallway that led to the bridge. Two rows of computers lined each side of the wall, each interface manned by a technician. Indicators and notifications he couldn’t begin to decipher rolled across their screens as he walked by and into the bridges man area. A huge galaxy map floated in the center of the room, its innumerable stars slowly rotating around the center.

"Navigator Pressly" Shepard greeted as he passed by.

"Commander" came his spartan reply as he nodded his head, not even bothering to look at the commander with his eyes. _Probably still has a stick up his ass from the first contact war._

Shepard approached the comm room, its metal doors quietly parting before him. He could hear the echoes of quiet conversation travel down the passageway, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. Afraid that he was intruding, cleared his throat before speaking.

"Captain Anderson" he called out as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Shepard, glad you can join us" Anderson responded. Shepard started to walk down the narrow hallway again and began to notice the outline of a tall figure. As he drew closer, he began to realize it was a Turian, still wearing his full combat armor.

Shepard arrived at the circular room, saluting both Anderson and the mysterious Turian. "Commander, a pleasure to finally meet you" the Turian nonchalantly. Shepard took a moment to look at the Turian more closely. His face was almost exclusively covered in intricate white face paint, and the black and red coloration of his armor gave him an ominous presence. _No wonder Moreau was suspicious._ Both soldiers scanned one another, analyzing all the ways they could defeat them if need be.

"Shepard, at ease. There's no need for formalities here" Anderson interjected, breaking the silent tension in the room. Shepard let his hand drop and he returned to parade rest.

"Yes, sir. Any word on the mission?" Shepard asked.

Anderson opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, the Turian spoke. "Your species has made many gains since joining the galactic community, commander. After co-existing for 30 years with the rest of the galaxy, humans have made farther strides than anyone thought possible. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to it."

"Is that a threat or something? If you have something to say, spit it out, Turian" Shepard growled. He never interacted with aliens much, and given his past, he had a naturally low threshold.

Unrebuffed by Shepard's attitude, the Turian continued. "Eden Prime. What does it mean to you?" he asked cryptically.

"It means nothing to me. Never been there" Shepard replied bluntly.

"It's not just you. It's to captain Anderson, to the crew on this ship, and to the rest of humanity," the Turian elaborated. _What is he getting at?_ Shepard asked himself. He did not like when people started playing mental gymnastics with him, especially when it was about him. "Eden Prime is one of humanities first successful colonies. It is a symbol that humans can expand and successfully colonize in the galaxy."

Shepard was quickly losing patience with the Turian. He wanted to bludgeon him over the head, but he didn't know who this guy was. It could be an important Turian diplomat, and that was the fastest way to get discharged. "Captain, what is going on here. And who is this?" Shepard asked as he turned his head towards Anderson.

But Nihlus didn't even give Anderson a chance to respond. "There is a Prothean Beacon on the planet. As tasked by the council, we are to retrieve the beacon and deliver it to council scientists where it can be studied."

"If it's on a human world, shouldn’t humans be the ones to study it?"

"The beacons were left behind by an ancient alien race that was wiped out 50,000 years ago. Everything from the mass relays to our ships is based on Prothean technology. Humanities discover of a Prothean beacon is what catapulted humanity into the stars. But it's been a long time since anyone has found an intact Prothean artifact. The council has regulations on how to handle the discovery of Prothean artifacts, which includes handing it to them" Anderson answered. He didn't like being on the outside of the conversation, and Nihlus had spoken enough already.

"And it needs an armed escort?" Shepard inquired.

"Eden Prime is deep inside the Terminus systems. If pirates were able to get their hands on the beacon, and it contained new weapons technology, god knows what would happen…" Anderson responded open-endedly.

When he heard the mention of pirates, Shepard's attention instantly perked up. He had firsthand experience fighting pirates, and he would never forget the shit they did on Elysium. "But this isn't only a pickup mission, Commander" Nihlus added, interrupting Shepard's thoughts. "This is also the first of many missions that I will be evaluating you on."

Shepard opened his mouth to say something but was unsure of what to respond with. _Evaluated on what, and for what?_ "Shepard, you've been selected as a possible candidate to become the first human specter. Nihlus is a revered council specter. It's an honor to have him on boar-"

"Captain Anderson. Priority message from Eden Prime, sir. I think you're going to want to see this" Joker into the room through the intercom.

"Put it up on the holo-screen Joker" Anderson ordered before sighing into his hand. It seemed the mission was already going to hell.

Ten agonizing seconds passed before the transmission was displayed on the screen. Shepard could hear a woman trying to speak, but her voice was overshadowed by explosions and gunfire. He could only hear a couple words: "This…Batahia of the…we've…overwhelmed. Unknown enemy forces…they…out of nowhere." He could see that she was clearly frightened; her voice was full of fear, and her hands shook as she held her assault rifle. As she tried to deliver the last of her message, another explosion went off, and the screen went black.

"Joker, take us in. And make sure the stealth systems are active. We need to retrieve that beacon" Anderson stated in a stern voice.


	12. Eden Prime

"Three-o'clock! What the hell is that?" Shepard asked as he raised his rifle at the strange creature.

"Nooooo! Don’t shoot them, they're harmless, trust me" replied Jenkins. Shepard didn't feel like trusting the overly jubilant corporal, but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt; the man did grow up on this planet after all. While he wasn't a fan of Jenkins’ carefree attitude, he envied his life; he was able to grow up on a colony world, with his family, go to school…to do all the things Shepard was never able to do. But Shepard also realized the sick irony of his situation. Another human colony world was being attacked; many children would probably end up like he did if they were lucky enough not to die. But this time, his job wasn't to help the defenseless. It was to run and hide; to quietly find the beacon and leave. And made him feel terrible; if there was one group of people he should have been looking out for, it was them.

"I've never seen a ship like that before" Kaiden whispered as he gazed at the monstrous construct. It looked like a massive bug that ended with a hand for a head. Its dark, purple form stood in contrast with the colorful, red-orange sunset behind it; it seemed as if it were a black hole, sucking the light and the hope of the entire planet with it.

"How are we going to kill that thing?" Jenkins mumbled, his spirit already broken by the sight of his home in ruins.

"That's not our job, Jenkins…we need to find the beacon and leave" Shepard responded as he began to descend a steep hill. He slid down the incline and onto a new path, marching through the dust cloud he had created.

Sure, he wanted to help these people. But now, he had a once in a lifetime chance to rise: to become more than something than a soldier, on the streets or in battle. A chance to become a Spectre. And Anderson's reputation was on the line here too…if he screwed this mission up, he would have dug a hole for himself so deep that he wouldn’t be able to crawl back out. _Stay focused on the beacon._

* * *

"Jenkins, stay back. That's AN ORDER, CORPORAL! You're going to blow this fucking mission" Shepard roared, but it was too late. Jenkins reached the towering spikes, each capped with a limp body, just as the soldier was sent flying backward as several drones appeared and unloaded a hail of bullets. Shepard reached out with his biotics and threw one of the drones into its neighbor, resulting in a fiery explosion. Behind him, Alenko overloaded the shields of the last drone, allowing Shepard to bring it down with a burst from his assault rifle.

Alenko lowered his weapon and started to approach Jenkins’ fallen body, but was stopped by Shepard's outstretched arm. "Wait," Shepard ordered through gritted teeth. Alenko complied without a word, even though Jenkins was dying in front of them. After a good 20 seconds, Shepard motioned for Alenko to follow him as he approached Jenkins’ body. Blood pooled underneath him, yet his chest continued to rise and fall. Shepard got on one knee before removing the soldier’s helmet. "What the fuck were you thinking?" Shepard asked.

Alenko had gotten to work trying to patch Jenkins’ wounds with medigel, but he knew it was a futile attempt. The kid had lost too much blood. "I…thought…save…" the Corporal sputtered through ragged breaths. He tried to finish his sentence, but the only sound that was produced was that of gurgling of blood.

"Shepard, help me here! We're going to lose him" Alenko begged, in utter shock from both the attack and Shepard's attitude.

Shepard got up before coldly replying, "He's already dead. Save the medigel for later, we might still need it."

Deep down Alenko knew that Shepard was probably right, but soldiers were like brothers. You didn't stop helping one until they were dead as dead can be. “We can still save him if you just…" Alenko halfheartedly responded, before giving up as Jenkins’ chest stopped moving.

"Come on, let's go. We still need to meet up with Nihlus and find that beacon." Shepard knew Alenko was a good soldier; however, it appeared that he hadn't seen as much combat as Shepard had. After watching so many soldiers die, he had long ago been numbed to the pain, at least during combat. He had learned that you only get haunted by the ones you let get close, and Shepard learned to never do that again; his nightmares of Akuze and Elysium ensured he would never forget his lesson.

Alenko pulled Jenkins’ eyes closed with two fingers before mumbling a few silent words, probably a prayer. Shepard looked down at his omnitool and sighed as he realized they were still more than a click away. Then he marched on, with Alenko in tow.

As the minutes dragged by, they approached a small farming settlement in their path. Most were one-story buildings, but Shepard paid close attention to the two-storied ones, as snipers could easily be stationed up there. He would have much rather circumvented the entire settlement, but that would have taken more time than they had. They tried their best to sneak in between the alleyways of buildings and avoid being seen. All the while, they kept their rifles raised, prepared to fire upon any threat that appeared.

Despite wearing helmets, they could still smell the wisps of acrid smoke that clouded the air; soot collected on their visors, forcing them to occasionally wipe them down. As they crossed a narrow street, Shepard could hear a faint noise. He turned his head towards the sound as he signaled for Alenko to listen. The sound became clearer now, and Shepard could make out the distinct sounds of gunfire. He took cover behind a building and pulled out his sniper rifle. He looked through the scope and down the street, scanning for any possible targets. Meanwhile, Alenko vigilantly watched the commander's back, intent on warding off any ambush.

For a couple of seconds, nothing appeared on the scope. But then, he could see the figure of a person running down the avenue at breakneck speed. All she carried was a pistol in her hand, which she sporadically pointed back and fired at an unknown target as she ran. A few seconds later, two drones eerily like the ones that had killed Jenkins appeared, firing on the soldier.

"Alenko, two targets, nine o'clock. Drop their shields" Shepard commanded.

"Negative, they are still too far out of range" Alenko responded.

Shepard sighed before stopping his breathing altogether. He lined his sights on one of the drones and fired. Although he hoped to destroy the drone, all he did was damage it shields, briefly stunning the machine. Shepard decided to fire again, believing that destroying one of the drones and overheating his rifle was the better trade-off; but when he looked through his scope, all he could see was a fireball. He quickly realized that the soldier must have destroyed the drone on her own.

"Commander, they're in range for an overload."

"Do it" Shepard responded. The last drone spat out blue sparks as its shield emitters fried, and Shepard's rifle knocked it out of the sky. With the threats dispatched, Shepard returned his rifle to his back and retrieved his assault rifle. The soldier was close enough that he could see her without a scope; she started looking around for the people that had helped her, but she couldn't see them. Shepard thought maybe he should try contacting her over alliance radio but quickly decided against the idea; they had a strict guideline of radio silence, after all. "Alenko, let's go get her. She might know something."

"Aren't we supposed to find the beacon first and forget about survivors."

"She's in our way. Plus, she can tell us more about what happened here. Maybe she knows a better way to get the beacon," Shepard responded.

Shepard and Alenko exited their cover and started to jog towards the lone soldier. Her first words were: "'thanks for the help, but who the hell are you, and how did you get here?"

Shepard was a bit taken aback by her brazenness, but quickly regained his wits. "I'm Commander Shepard, Alliance N7, and this is Lieutenant Alenko. We are here to retrieve the uncovered beacon."

"Everything's gone to hell ever since we discovered that thing. If it's so important that they sent you guys here, no wonder the geth are after it," she replied.

"What? What are geth?" Shepard asked, puzzled by the word. Sure, he connected the dots: those drones were probably the geth. But he had never heard of them before.

"You probably learned about them at school. Round about 300 years ago, the Quarians lost control of their robot AIs. They haven't been seen outside of the Pursues veil until now. Whatever is in that beacon, it's probably important,” she explained.

"Right. Which is an even greater reason we need to retrieve it before they do. Can you help us find it?" Shepard asked.

"But what about the people here. They're being slaughtered! My entire unit died to defend this colony, I can't just leave them. We need to contact the alliance" she responded, clearly flustered.

"People die, all the time. The only thing we can do right now is complete the mission” Shepard snapped back solemnly. “After we retrieve the beacon, I’ll see what I can do. But you need to take us to that beacon. Now.”

* * *

“Fuck!” Shepard whispered under his breath. Shepard could only ponder the circumstances of the shitshow they were in. Not only had the beacon been moved, but Nihlus lay in a pool of his own blue blood.

He was at a loss: what the hell was he going to tell Anderson? _I blew it, I fucking blew it!_ Shepard screamed inside his head. “Commander, what’s our next step from here?” asked Alenko, intent on overcoming the setback.

“I don’t know… Look around, there must be something here…ANYTHING WE CAN USE TO FIND THE FUCKING BEACON” Shepard spat back angrily. The beacon was supposed to be here, but it was gone now.

He dropped his hands to his sides and started pacing around the tram platform. _Next step? NEXT STEP? There is no fucking next step! I told that Turian let’s stick together, but NOOO. He wanted to split up. And I’m going to pay the fucking price for this shit. Aliens, always ruining my fucking life!_

Alenko and Williams stayed a couple of meters away from him, partly because they wanted to give him some room and partly because they were afraid of him. A harsh, blue aura surrounded his body, and the air crackled with energy. The man was clearly mad.

Shepard took off his helmet and scanned the platform, hoping to find even the smallest clue to point him in the right direction. But he came up empty-handed, which only made him angrier. He approached an alcove with a stack of crates and threw a biotic push at it, hoping to relieve his anger. One of the crates toppled backward; but in addition to the crash, he could hear something else: a scream of pain.

He walked towards the crates, intent on finding the person. As he got closer, he could see a man lying on the floor, his arm pinned under one of the fallen creates. The man was about to ask for help, but then he saw the wild look in Shepard’s eyes. It was haunting, as if his humanity had been replaced by a savage animal. The blue aura that encased the soldier made him look even scarier, as if he was a god of war that had just descended from the heavens; or risen from the depths of hell, as it was probably a matter of perspective.

His mind raced as he tried to decide what to do. _Is he going to help me? Or kill me? Do I scream out for help? But that could attract more of those things…_ But even the eternity that adrenaline could provide could only last so long, and he found the soldier kicking the crate of his arm. His relief was suddenly replaced as he was picked up and slammed into the wall, painfully reminding him of his already broken arm.

“Did you kill him?! Who killed him? Why were you hiding?!” Sheard screamed into the man’s face. However, the only response was a whimper. _Pathetic._

“Answer me!” Shepard commanded before tossing the man to the floor and pointing a gun at him.

At the sight of the gun, the man was suddenly jolted to action. “Wh…What, please! I didn’t kill him, I swear!” he pleaded as he began to sit up.

“Then why are you HIDING!” Shepard shot back as he punched the man in the jaw, sending him reeling back to the floor. _Thinks he can play it smart, doesn’t he?_

Just as Shepard was about to strike the man again, he heard something through his rage-filled haze, stopping him for a fraction of a second. He heard the sound again, but this time he could understand what was being said. “COMMANDER, what the hell are you doing?”

A figure entered his field of vision, standing in front of the helpless man on the floor. Shepard stood there for a couple of seconds, his rage slowly being replaced by confusion. He began to recognize the person that stood in front of him: Alenko. Of to his side, he could see Williams holding a salvaged assault rifle, pointing it to the floor; the once brave and fearless soldier was replaced by a scared recruit, her hands shaking as she held her rifle.

“Commander, wait. I’m sure this man has a perfectly reasonable explanation” Alenko tried to reason.

“Reason my ass! He must have killed Nihlus” Shepard argued.

“He doesn’t even have a weapon. Would you take one second and look around you? Does he look like the kind of person that would kill a spectre?” Alenko rebutted.

Shepard turned his head back towards the man lying on the floor. _Relatively weak and skinny. No weapons. No armor._ “But he was here. He must know.”

“I didn’t kill him, I swear” the man on the floor cried. “There... there was another Turian. They knew each other, called him Saren. Your friend let his guard down and got shot. Please don’t kill me” the man begged, tears streaming down his face.

By the end of the man’s recollection of events, Shepard had come back to his senses. At least enough to realize that he had lost it.

* * *

“Alright, here’s the plan. I’ll engage the troops and keep them distracted. Alenko you disarm the bombs while Williams covers you. Got it?”

“Yes sir” replied Alenko and Williams in unison.

Shepard had at least some hope of salvaging this mission: they knew where the beacon was. However, as was everything in Shepard’s life, it wasn’t easy. Not only was it guarded by an army of killer robots and zombies, but the whole place was also set to blow in a couple of minutes.

Shepard reached behind his back for his shotgun while Williams readied her assault rifle. The suicide mission began at the nod of Shepard’s head. In an instant, he was in front of two geth platforms, the air behind him full of wispy trails of energy. He fired at the first one before knocking the second one over the railing, where it crashed onto the platform below. A shadow began to loom towards his left, and Shepard turned to face his new target. Before he could react, a burst from the Geth’s rifle tore through his shielding, only his biotic barrier keeping him alive. Shepard blasted the machine in its chest cavity three times before it finally collapsed onto the floor.

Having cleared the tram platform, he took cover behind a crate and switched to his sniper. He peaked just above the top of the crate and began to fire into the geth ranks that were coming through the entrance to the platform. After a couple of shots, his rifle stubbornly refused to fire; yet the geth were still coming. He grabbed two grenades, primed them, and tossed them into the remaining geth. Within a few seconds, a tremendous explosion sent shrapnel flying high into the air.

“Alenko, what’s the situation on those bombs, over?”

“Where on the third one. Just keep them away from that entrance and we should be good” Alenko replied swiftly. Although he answered with confidence, the nervousness was evident in his voice. Shepard wasn’t too surprised; after all, if Alenko made one wrong move, they would all die.

“Copy that. I got you covered” Shepard assured. He switched back to his shotgun and approached the passageway, taking cover on the wall next to it. He trained his weapon on the entrance, waiting for the next combatant to come through. This time, several zombie-like humans appeared and charged at him. Unfortunately for them, Shepard’s shotgun shredded their ranks, littering the floor with chunks of flesh and odd, bright-blue blood.

“All bombs on the platform are disarmed, commander. What are your orders?” Shepard heard Williams speak over the comm.

“Meet me at the entrance to the other side. The beacon should still be there, hopefully.”

The soldiers gathered around the entrance and waited for Shepard’s signal. Once they were in position, they stormed into the other side of the platform, into a perfectly set up ambush. Sniper rounds streaked towards them, slamming into their shields as they ducked for cover. In the corner of his vision, Shepard saw another bomb: the last obstacle between him and his goal. He knew he didn’t have the time to trade shots with the geth, so he did the only thing he could: he charged into the midst of the geth ranks, entering with a shockwave of raw biotic power. Geth platforms were sent sprawling or were momentarily stunned, giving Shepard the chance to permanently incapacitate them with his shotgun.

He was a flurry of rage, his motions blurred by the swirls of energy around him. Until he crumpled to the floor from a powerful strike to the head. His helmet cracked under the blow, barely able to protect his head from being crushed like a watermelon. His shotgun fell out of his hands as he hit the floor. He tried to face his attacker, but his vision was blurry and gradually darkening. All he could see was the bright, glowing optic of a geth platform as it stood over him. He tried to get back up, but his body was unresponsive. _So, this is how it ends. At least I can meet my parents now. Hopefully…_

Shepard waited for it to end, each second like an eternity. The light above his head suddenly winked out. _Am I dead?_ Shepard asked himself. But no, he couldn’t be. He could still feel his body and the aching pains all over it. He could still hear the world rushing around him, although distantly.

Slowly he crawled back to his feet and reached out for his shotgun. As his vision returned, he searched for more targets and came face-to-face with another of the zombie-things. It tackled him back to the floor, and he struggled as it clawed his armor. He was losing the battle as his strength waned. He now faced death, again. Sometimes, he wished that he could find this personification of all his pain and suffering, but it had a bad habit of always finding him first. Just as his arms failed him, its head exploded, showering him in blood. He wiped his helmet, and ultimately decided to just remove it entirely, as it was already damaged beyond any use.

Though his vision was still clouded, he could see Williams approaching him, rifle raised and pointed off to the side of his head. A burst from her rifle disabled the last Geth platform as she approached him. “The…the bomb…” Shepard gasped, unable to form a complete sentence.

“Alenko’s on it, and the platform’s clear. Just take it easy” she informed him. Shepard was in bad shape, and blood was flowing freely from the side of his head. She stayed on guard, keeping an eye out for any new targets, as Alenko finished disabling the bomb.

When Alenko was finished, she lowered her rifle and started to walk towards the strange object. Behind her, Shepard started to get up, also curious. He stumbled slowly, almost like the zombies he fought, as the man was clearly on his last leg, metaphorically speaking. As she took another step, the ground started to shake, and she was overcome with the strange sense of weightlessness. She soon realized that she was actually floating in the air. She tried to swing her arms and legs in a vain attempt to get back down to the floor, but the beacon began to slowly draw her in.

Shepard saw this, and with a burst of speed, grabbed Williams and tossed her back towards the floor. But now Shepard found himself in the air, and green energy started to surround the beacon. Suddenly, his vision winked out, only to be replaced by a vivid vision. Then the world turned black.


	13. Nightmare

Shepard stood in the middle of a busy street. The crowds swirled around him. The sun shone a bright golden-yellow. The scene seemed almost peaceful, maybe even beautiful. Towering skyscrapers of an odd architecture reached towards the sky. It was a place of wealth and life.

But something was off. Shepard, through his harsh life, had developed an intuition, a gut feeling. He knew that if he turned his head, everything would go wrong, and he would shatter this moment of tranquil beauty. However, humans are curious beings, even for what freights them. He turned around and froze. _No, no, no, no. Not again,_ Shepard cried. Those nightmarish beings of a towering monstrosity loomed in the distance. They spat orange-red beams of fire, cutting down the intricate buildings.

Shepard also realized something: the crowds were not simply moving, they were running. Upon closer inspection, he realized that they were not human. In fact, they didn’t appear to be any kind of species that Shepard had ever seen before. Behind the fleeing crowds, a dark hoard of beings followed.

Shepard wanted to act, to do something. But he was frozen in place, unmoving. However, like an answer to his prayers, opposing troops sprung up and fought back. Rival ships streaked through the sky, firing back at the shadowy forms. He didn’t know what they were called, but he felt a word form in his mouth. _Reaper._ The troops cut down the advancing forces, mowing them down with ease; and the fighters in the air swooped and barrel-rolled in an elegant dance. It almost appeared like the battle was to be won.

How wrong he was. The troops kept firing their strange weapons at the advancing mob, dropping scores of them. But they just kept coming, and coming, and coming… Shepard felt like this was the trench warfare he had heard about during WWI, except that the enemy had an endless supply of troops. Eventually, the monstrous horde reached the troops, tackling them and tearing them to shreds. Almost as if on cue, fireworks lit up in the sky. Except those colorful bursts of light were ships and fighters exploding as the Reapers focused their lances of fire away from the buildings and onto the new enemy.

Soon, nothing stood between Shepard and the hellish nightmare before him. They felt similar to something he had seen before, but he couldn’t quite remember what. Shepard tried to move, to reach for his weapon, to do anything to stop the advancing forces, but he couldn’t. He was yet again powerless to do anything to stop shit from going wrong. They rammed into him, but like a ghost, they didn’t see nor touch him.

* * *

His head throbbed in intense pain, but he wasn’t sure why. As a matter of fact, he didn’t know where he was at all. He remained in this ignorant bliss for a few more seconds before thoughts and images came rushing back to him. _Eden Prime. The Beacon. The mission…_

And one more thought entered his mind, frightening him. A realization that should have only come out of his worst nightmare. He remembered his vision, of the reapers, of his helplessness. In a burst of speed, he freed himself from his semi-comatose state, hellbent on stopping the monstrous apparitions. His eyes snapped open as he catapulted his body forward, landing on the floor. He searched around, reaching for a weapon in his confusion, but all he could see were desks and equipment strewn about. And a feeling kept nagging him, but as the seconds dragged by, it became clearer: someone calling his name. He looked up, and his bloodshot eyes met a woman’s, someone he knew but couldn’t quite remember.

He looked around and realized he didn’t remember how he got where he was. The last thing he remembered was fighting on that platform. But gradually, his senses came back to him, and his intuition pieced together what had happened. He was on the Normandy. He was safe. How he got here didn’t matter. He sank back to the floor, allowing his tired eyes to snap shut again.

* * *

It had taken Shepard some time to piece together the full story. But it went something like this: he was levitated by the beacon, it exploded, and Alenko and Williams dragged him back to the Normandy. He had been in a coma for the past week as they headed back towards the citadel.

He now sat on the edge of the medical exam table, speaking with Anderson about the events that had transpired. Or in simpler, more harsher words, how he had fucked up and failed the man.

“Do you have any idea about what happened to Nihlus?” Anderson asked.

“Some guy said he witnessed him get killed by another Turian called Saren. It seemed like they knew each other, but I… I don’t know” Shepard sulked.

Anderson sighed. But this wasn’t a sigh engendered out of tiredness or loss. No, it was a sigh born out of fear and hatred of one man. Or, in this case, turian. Anderson recalled his long-buried memories of his mission with Saren, and how like the current mission, Saren plotted the failures. Anderson felt sympathetic for Shepard, but also comforted by his circumstances; while he wished Shepard’s mission had gone according to plan, he felt more comfortable knowing that he was no longer a one-off.

Anderson was going to debrief Shepard about the beacon, but there was no point in having him recollect his torment any further. It was destroyed already, and that was that. So, Anderson stood quiet for a few seconds, seconds in which Shepard’s mind tossed and turned about what to say next. “I’m sorry” Shepard stated with remorse yet strength, the words tasting like acid in his mouth. Those words made Shepard feel even worse; there was no sorry for when people died, or you failed a mission. He was about to amend his statement when Anderson cut him off.

“Son, it’s alright. You did the best you could. Sometimes things are out of your control. You couldn’t have known Saren would be there. Damn-it, he’s always there to ruin things” Anderson stated, with a noticeable grimace at the end of his statement. What was supposed to be a consoling remark sounded more like an aggravated rant, one that served to confuse and illuminate Shepard to the situation at the same time. It became apparent that Anderson was hiding something, although he didn’t know what. But to be fair, don’t we all hide or darkest secrets? Shepard shuddered at the thought of what would happen if people found out about his past.

Eventually, the conversation switched gears to the beacon, but again, Shepard sat empty-handed without anything solid to report. Another failure, just like him.

“Do you remember anything after you passed out?” Anderson inquired.

“Nothing concrete, sir” Shepard responded hesitantly.

“Spit it out, soldier.”

Shepard nodded his head and took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “I saw… I don’t know what I say. Monsters, like the ones on Eden Prime, slaughtering people. It was a massacre, Anderson, a massacre” Shepard elaborated as his eyes grew distant, entranced in the horrifying memory.

“Shepard, you alright, son?” Anderson asked after Shepard grew quiet. _Whatever he saw in that beacon must have really shocked him. He's seen the worst in life already, this can’t be some kind of psychotic breakdown. I need to get to the bottom of that beacon._

“Ya…yes sir, I mean” Shepard sputtered.

“We need to report this to the council as soon as possible. It could be connected to Saren.”

“What are we going to tell them, I had a bad dream?! They’ll never believe it, and that doesn’t even prove that Saren was there” Shepard replied.

“We’ll stop him, one way or another…”


	14. Two-face

_I don’t get paid enough for this_ , Shepard screamed in his mind. He was rapidly losing patience with the council and their antics.

“Without solid evidence, we cannot convict Saren of any crimes or revoke his Spectre status. We have been forced to vote down your proposal ambassador Udina” spoke the Asari councilor.

“Thank you, councilors. I was most concerned when we began allowing dreams into evidence, but my faith remains validated” Saren stated, his raspy voice echoing throughout the council chambers. Afterward, the projection of his face flicked off, leaving only the councilors and the human delegation.

“You’re allowing Saren to hide behind the authority of the council! I am tired of this council and its anti-human bullshit” Udina roared, his voice echoing through the large council chamber.

“Ambassador!” shouted Tevos, clearly sounding shocked at his outburst. “You know as well as I do that we cannot convict someone without any evidence, especially a Spectre. The council is not protecting Saren, simply following due process.”

Shepard ground his teeth together, enraged at the council’s actions and demeanor. Although told to remain quiet unless called upon, he exploded in an outburst of anger. “If you cared about due process, you would have let C-Sec investigate him properly!”

“If you have any complaints about the investigation process, you can speak with Executor Palin” Sparatus shot back, not amused at having to respond to a lowly soldier.

Eventually, the human entourage exited the council chambers, feeling utterly defeated. “Well, that was a shit the likes of which I had never seen before” Udina snarled.

“We can still implicate Saren if we just find the evidence” Anderson responded, a little more hopeful than his counterpart.

“And where do you suppose we find it,” Shepard asked as he leaned against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You could try asking the Shadow Broker’s contact here on the citadel, Barla Von. He might have information on Saren” Anderson offered.

“If you have enough money” Alenko added, a bit pessimistically.

“Or you can try talking to Harkin. He might be able to provide some insight into C-Sec” Udina suggested.

“That slob. You must be joking, he got fired weeks ago. He’s a disgrace” Anderson negated.

* * *

The Citadel is a large place. So many shops, places, and people, all carrying on with life in blissful ignorance. Shepard, Alenko, and Williams went scouring throughout the Citadel, looking for any leads or a shred of evidence. Their first stop: the business district of the citadel, where they met Barla Von.

The wealth and opulence made Shepard feel out of place. Yes, he was a soldier, and he probably was out of place anyway. But he grew up in the gutters; the way he carried himself, the hardness in his eyes, and his subconsciously conveyed disgust for the upper crust of society were clear to those we walked past. He walked down the vast corridors and past the grandiose architecture, gazing at it in shock. _What a fucking waste._ He continued walking down the avenue, his military boots and armor clunking heavily on the floor beneath him; people were sure to get out of his way.

Eventually, they reached the office, which was decadently decorated with glass panes and furniture. It was a small office, which was ironic given Von’s status in the Citadel: the premier financial guru and Shadow Broker contract. Shepard stepped forward and looked around, disappointed that he couldn’t find the man. “Fuck it, we’re out of here” Shepard sighed as he turned around.

“Skssss. Excuse me? Sksss” spoke a muffled voice.

Shepard turned back around, facing the direction of the voice. “Hello?” he asked, still unable to see the speaker.

Another few seconds passed before a short, budgie man stepped out from behind the counter. “How may I be of assistance? Skss.” _They really do look like beach balls;_ Shepard snorted in a laugh before replying, “I’m looking for Barla Von? Would you happen to know where he is?”

The Volus started walking towards Shepard and replied, “I am… skssss… Barla Von. A pleasure to finally meet you…sksss… Commander Shepard.”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward before leaning down to the Volus’ eye level. “How do you know my name, Volus” Shepard barked. He had only been on the citadel for a few hours, and compared to other people on this space station, he was a nobody.

“I make it a habit of taking note of all the important people who happen to arrive. Information…sksss…is an important weapon,” the Volus responded calmly, unfazed by the soldiers threatening demeanor.

“I am not important. So why do you know my name?” Shepard argued, still confused. He had always preferred to keep to the shadows, only making himself known through the aftermath of his destruction. His mind churned, paranoid at the implications; _is someone watching me? Who? Why?_

“I am afraid you are mistaken, Commander. Your profile is anything but not important. Sksss. Survived a black-ops terrorist attack on Akuze. Defended an entire colony against pirates. Orphaned as a young boy. Rampaged through the streets in your youth. You are important because destruction and death…sksss… seem to follow you around. Let us not forget your ‘missions’ on Torfan,” the volus replied methodically, placing emphasis on his last statement.

Shepard lunged forward, getting even closer to the volus. “What the hell are you talking about, you fucking beachball. I’d be careful who you share that with,” he threatened.

But the volus stood there, unfazed. There are just some people who you couldn’t touch, lest you be hunted down by the entire galaxy. Armed with this ego, he calmly replied back: “I am an agent of the Shadow Broker, Commander. It is my job to stay informed, even of the things you believe nobody knows. Sksss. Don’t worry commander, I don’t plan on telling your associates” leaning to the side and making a show of looking at Alenko and Williams. “No, what is it that you believe I can help you with?”

Alenko and Williams remained quiet throughout the entire exchange, mouths agape. They only moved their heads to look at each other when it became apparent the Volus knew something Shepard didn’t want people knowing.

Shepard stood up straight, and asked: “I am looking for evidence against Saren Arterious which can prove that he was involved with the attack on Eden Prime.”

The volus inhaled deeply, a little surprised at the recent turn of events. Yes, he was about to get evidence on that precise issue. But the Shadow Broker’s instructions were clear, hand the evidence straight to him and do not sell it. It came as no surprise: dirt on a spectre could be a powerful tool.

“I’m sorry to inform you that I have no such information. Even if I had, I do not believe that you are in any position to afford it, Commander” came the volus’ reply.

A sound reverberated throughout the room. A low growl filled the air. And if the volus didn’t have his suit on, he would feel the tingle of energy in the air. As careful as the Volus had been with is words, misinterpretation was always possible. Sure, Shepard was pissed that he didn’t have any evidence. But what he hated, even more, was the Volus threatening him with Torfan and then calling him dirt poor, or at least so he thought. In actuality, very few could afford the Shadow Broker’s fee, even the well-off. However, that wasn’t what Shepard heard.

“You’re very brazen, for a volus, at least” Shepard stated. He took a breath before continuing, “You know, when I was on Torfan, I discovered where the Batarians got all their money from. People, actually volus, like you. And one day, they made a trip, in person, to talk finances with their counterparts, you know, as a goodwill gesture. And they almost got away with it. Do you know what happened, mister, I know it all?”.

The volus nodded before responding. “You killed them. Rather brutally, even though your orders were to arrest them for trial, and only use lethal force if absolutely necessary. You know, many of them were great business partners…sksss… and friends.”

Shepard got on when knee, again at eye level with the volus. “I killed them for a couple of reasons. They helped smuggle the money for all those attacks. They didn’t care about the common people. And their money is the root of all evil. People like you are the reason people suffer and die” Shepard elaborated.

The volus took time to consider the man’s words before responding. “You know…sksss… maybe you are right Commander: money is the root of all evil. That’s exactly what the Pardoner said in your Canterbury tales, just before he abused his authority.”

“What?” Shepard asked, confused as to what pardoner and what tales the volus was talking about exactly.

His confusion did not go unnoticed by the volus, but nevertheless, the volus continued. “You believe money is the root of all evil but look at what you have done in your life. So, you see commander, morality is a two-way street. One that we must be careful walking on, or not walk on at all.”

At the end of his statement, the volus swiftly turned around and walked back behind his counter. It was time to see if Fist had gotten the information anyway.

* * *

The wards were dark, dangerous, and often creepy. The air smelled of garbage, smoke, blood, and alcohol. Those who walked through the streets were the epitome of misery. And Shepard felt right at home. It reminded him so much of his time living in New York. He felt…comforted here, as if the darkness was opening its inky-black tendrils and welcoming him back into the fold. The bevy of senses brought him back to his youth and all its crazy adventures. He almost felt nostalgic, as life was simpler back then; no politicians or right and wrong. You just _did_ what you wanted to.

A second later, his mind was flooded with the memories of the not-so-nice things he had to do to survive. He remembered why he left, why he joined the military. But that only managed to darken his demeanor further. He had wasted his time: the only thing he had ever been good at was killing. Killing in the hopes that he could exact revenge on the people responsible for his misfortunes. What kind of life was that? But he could never forget nor forgive because if he did, who else would care? He realized he had a fundamental problem with death, a paradox. Death took everything from him, and in his pursuit to get it back, he took even more life from the world.

And what had he gained from his misery? Absolutely nothing. He wanted nothing more than to return to the streets, his home and teacher; maybe start a gang or mercenary squad; and get rich and wasted. He was doing it for the politicians and gaining nothing. What was so bad if he killed for his own reasons instead of at the whim of others? Yes, this plan sounded nice.

Alenko and Williams walked behind the commander, partially oblivious to his internal dilemma. But they still knew he was deep in thought, and so they resorted themselves to just following him without saying a word. Suddenly, screaming and gunshots could be heard. People ran out of the alley, clearly frightened. They saw the soldiers and pleaded for their assistance, pointing them in the direction of the action. However, Shepard refused to do anything; he kept walking towards Cora’s den, refusing to even respond. Alenko and Williams tried to convince Shepard, but it was a lost cause. He just didn’t care anymore because no one had ever really cared about him.

Shepard was tired of people looking at him to be some savior or hero. The only purpose of the hero is to shield people from necessary action. Its core belief is that the evil in the world will be solved by sacrificial people instead of the people themselves; that’s why most people have never done anything of importance. Maybe that’s why they are so absorbed with heroes; they needed to entice others with praise, grandeur, and commemoration, in order to convince others to give up their lives for our problems.

The inhabitants of this section of the wards would have to wait until C-Sec got here, which could take a while. Or they could do it themselves, which they, of course, would not do.

* * *

They heard the deep, pulsing techno music of the club blocks away. The streets got darker and the smell of alcohol even more overpowering, which forced Shepard’s companions to put their helmets on. They walked through a corridor into a vast room which served as the entrance to the club. Unlike the rest of the wards, this room had a high ceiling and was brightly lit.

He started down the path towards the club. Unbeknownst to him, an assassin and his compatriot readied their equipment for the perfect kill shot. The first assassin set his sights on Shepard as the second assassin hacked into the soldier’s shields. As soon as Shepard’s shields fried, a sniper shot placed with deadly slammed into Shepard’s abdomen, dropping him instantly.

“Commander!” Alenko called out, but Shepard couldn’t respond; he lay crumpled on the floor.

The remaining two soldiers sprang into action, quickly finding the two assassins and dispatching them. One of the Turians lay dead, with a bullet in his brain. The other one sat against the wall, cradling his gunshot wound as Williams held him at gunpoint. “Who sent you?” Alenko interrogated.

“I’m not dealing you shit” the Turian spat as Shepard walked up behind the group. Ya, maybe his shields were down, but he always made sure to keep his armor in top-notch condition. He would have a mighty bruise, but he was anything but out of the action.

Shepard charged the Turian, lifted him off of the floor, and slammed him against the railing. “WHO THE FUCK SENT YOU?” Shepard roared. Ya, the animal was definitely out of its cage now.

“I don’t know! We get our targets anonymously. I don’t even know my boss, I swear,” the Turian cried.

“No information, at all?” Shepard inquired. The turian could only nod his head in response.

“Okay,” Shepard replied in a calm voice. He pushed the Turian over the edge of the railing. His screams down the five-story drop delighted Shepard. And so did crack of breaking bones and wet smack of flesh tearing.


	15. Militaristic Tourism

“I don't have time for this” Shepherd screamed as he hurled the drunk man into the wall. “Tell me where he is. Now!”

“Alright, alright” coughed Harkin. “Garrus is in the wards, med-clinic, I think. I’m sending the address to your omnitool.”

Shepard let go of the man, who wobbled slightly as he tried to regain his footing through his drunkenness. “There. You could have just asked” Harkin spat.

Without another word, Shepard clocked the man in the jaw. Teeth flew out of his mouth and blood spilled onto the floor. Harkin tried to speak, but it was difficult to pronounce constantans while missing your front teeth.

“Shepard…” came William’s warning, as three Krogan bouncers approached the trio.

“Come on, let’s go. We have what we need anyway” Shepard responded. The Krogans came even closer and unholstered their weapons. However, before they could even point them at Shepard, they froze. A thin, blue aura surrounded each of the figures. Alenko stood still for a second as he tried to understand what had happened to the krogan.

He turned to look towards Shepard, and that’s when he put two and two together. _Stasis._ Shepard turned around and walked away silently, with the other two soldiers following him after a second. They exited the bar and started walking towards the address Harkin had given them.

“Was that really necessary? We could have gotten arrested” Alenko inquired. It baffled him that such a violent and reckless man had made it this far. While only one the citadel for a couple of hours, we had already pissed off Barla Von and Executor Palin. Not to mention a firefight and a bar brawl.

“He was an asshole. Got what he deserved, I don’t know why you’re dwelling on it” Shepard replied without even bothering to face Alenko.

Shepard’s answer did little to satiate Kaiden. “Hey, listen to me!” he said, placing a hand on Shepard’s shoulder to stop him. “You can’t keep doing this! I have almost died more times with you than in the rest of my military career! You could at least take a second to hear me out!”

Shepard turned around in a flash, knocking Kaiden’s hand off his shoulder. “We’re soldiers. That’s what we do: follow orders until our mission is complete or die. You are in the wrong profession if you fear death” Shepard retorted.

It was only then that Kaiden truly realized how sick and twisted this man was. Shepard cared so little for his life and the lives of those around him. It was scary. And thank god he was at least on their side. Who knows how much chaos and destruction Shepard would cause if he went off the rails? “There’s a difference between dying and dying recklessly. You should know that” Kaiden replied.

Shepard let out a large sigh before responding: “Look. We can either stay here and argue about your reservations, or we can go find Vakarian and stop Saren, who’s doing god-knows-what in the traverse.”

Kaiden could only nod his head at Shepard’s reply. It was no use arguing with a man so blinded by his anger. Shepard turned around and they continued to walk down the corridors of the wards again. But Kaiden remained deep in thought, pondering a number of things. For starters, it became apparently obvious that Shepard had little self-control. Furthermore, what the hell happened to this man to make him what he is? But above all, something confused him terribly. How could Shepard care so little for people at one instant, and then care enough to save them at other instants?

“Commander, I think we are close to the clinic,” Williams interjected, breaking the silence.

* * *

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Am I going to make it before?…_ Garrus wondered. He abruptly landed his air-car in the alley behind the clinic and got out, sprinting for the back entrance as he drew his pistol. He quietly slipped inside the building, navigating its hallways in search of the doctor. Commotion and shouting in one of its rooms attracted his attention, and he made his way towards that direction.

He approached a door, light seeping out from underneath. One, gentle turn of the old-fashioned knob and the door swung open in silence. His pistol raised, he peered into the room. Several thugs, with backs faced towards him, stood in the center. Beyond, a trio of humans stood at arms and weapons trained, each with the arch of the System’s Alliance, and its home planet centered in its base, emblazoned on their armor.

Seconds felt like hours as time waxed and waned. So much to decipher and so little time. The soldier in the center saw him, and they locked eyes. That face was unlike so many here; his visage, with a frown and wrinkled lips, and sneer of cold command, tell that this soldier knew well of suffering and despair. Garrus’ eye also caught his objective, or target, depending upon which way the winds of law blew.

Garrus locked eyes with the harrowing human again, whose body seemed to tense and convulse. Garrus had made up his mind. _Quite,_ he demanded with a finger raised to his mandible. He closed an eye, aiming down the sights of his pistol at the man who held the doctor in his strong and grimy grasps. With a pull of the trigger, a shower of red cascaded over the room, and with the doctor now free from hostage, the soldiers attacked the remaining thugs.

The room was silent except for the quiet crying of a scared woman. “Nice shot,” so spoke the soldier as he dropped the limp body of a thug whose neck he had snapped. Droplets of blood covered this man’s face, and even a small lump of dislodged and liquified brain matter clung to his hair.

“Thanks, but you were keeping them distracted after all” snarked Garrus. He turned to the clinic’s owner, looking down at the orange, glowing display of his omnitool for her name. _You always started with the name._ “Dr. Michel, are you all right?”

She stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, the gulped before her reply: “If…I could have died. Thank…you.” Her eyes, almost black spheres as her pupils had dilated, surveyed the carnage around her and the heavily armed persons that had prevented her from joining the bodies on the floor.

Garrus looked back down at his omnitool and typed a reply to c-sec, requesting assistance. After all, he was not cleaning this mess up.

* * *

Shepard, with his gauntleted hand, reached up to his hair; he tried his best to remove the mysterious, gelatinous substance from his head, but its oozing form remained plastered to his short, military-style hair. Then, like a dog out of a bath, he tried to shake his head in an attempt to rid himself of the substance. Tiny drops of blood and goo flew around the room, but his hair remained disgustingly coated.

Despite the tears, which were still drying on her face, Dr. Michel couldn’t help but silently smile inside. Some people would always act like children, even as adults. She walked over to a supply closet and grabbed a roll of gauze bandages.

“So, Dr. Mitchel, what were these men here for exactly,” Garrus asked, curious as to why a bunch of thugs would bother attacking a med-clinic.

The doctor handed the role of gauze to the commander, who mumbled a thanks as he tried to clean up as best as he could. “They were after a quarian. She had been shot earlier by criminals. She did not have any money, so I patched her up with no charge. She was looking for the shadow breaker and had information to trade” she replied.

The commander snorted, clearly not believing it. “That quarian probably sent these men to rob the place. I don’t know why bothered to help her, it just came to bite you in the ass.”

Garrus simply shrugged, making a note in his file. Anything was possible on the citadel these days.

“Wait…no! It isn’t her fault, you have to believe me. She told me she had information on some spectre named Saren. She had just arrived on the citadel and tried telling c-sec, but no one believed her… because of people like you!” she responded, clearly upset that Shepard had mocked the young woman.

Shepard’s eyes narrowed, highlighting his sudden shift from irreverence to intrigue. “Where is she? I need that information, now! Saren’s responsible for an attack on a human colony. If you know something and are hiding it, the Systems Alliance will not take it lightly.”

“That slimy bastard! No wonder she was shot, he must have tried to kill her” Garrus added.

Michel could only gulp in fear. Here, surrounded in her office by heavily armed soldiers, dead criminals, and a c-sec officer, she was now asked to divulge information that may put somebody’s life on the line. She looked up, meeting Shepard’s eyes, but that only made her more frightful of saying anything. The quite seconds lingered by, permeated only by the sounds of fans and air ducts.

Ashley stepped out of the commander’s shadow, having had enough with Shepard’s utter lack of respect for the doctor. “Listen, everything is going to be okay. You don’t need to worry about those people coming back. You’re safe now, but whatever you can tell us may just save other people’s lives.”

The doctor nodded her head slowly and replied back to the soldier. “She, she wanted to trade the information to the shadow broker in exchange for protection. I told her to go to one of the broker's agents here on the citadel, F-f-f-fist.”

“And where can we…” Shepard tried to ask with a sneer on his face before he was interrupted by the turian officer.

“Fist?! He betrayed the shadow broker for Saren, already,” Garrus yelled.

“Then that girl is walking into a trap. We need to get to her before Fist does,” Alenko asserted.

Shepard let out a loud sigh. _Fucking hell, we were just there! Why can’t anything ever be simple!_ “Let’s get out of here,” Shepard ordered, his tone yielding a quiet anger.

“Commander!” spoke the turian, causing Shepard to whirl around in surprise. “Mind if I join?”

Shepard laughed sarcastically before responding, “I don’t think so. Let a turian tag along on an investigation into a turian? You’d probably just stab us in the back like your pal Saren!” Shepard replied, venom dripping from his voice.

“Saren’s a traitor to the council and a disgrace to my race! I want to bring him down just as much as you do. Hell, I was the ONLY person who willingly took the case at c-sec! Besides, you’re going to need the extra firepower to find Fist anyway” Garrus argued.

Shepard’s mouth opened to reply, but he was stopped by his two compatriots. A quiet whispering matching ensued, and after a couple of seconds, Shepard gave his answer through gritted teeth: “you can come along.”

* * *

_Perfect. Exactly what we needed. Even more aliens._ Shepard stepped out of the Garrus’ aircar and followed him into c-sec headquarters. If Shepard had his way, he would have just strolled into that bar, found the man, and killed him for what he did. But he couldn’t do so without c-sec authority, lest he wind up hidden in jail here for a long, long time. In all honesty, he had probably gotten away with worse, but then again, he didn’t necessarily have cameras watching his every move on the battlefield. He wasn’t so lucky on the citadel, however.

Eventually, after a minute or two of walking through the vast expanse of the complex, Shepard found himself near the entrance of the holding area. _How ironic, but if that turian tries anything, I’m going to kill him._ A large commotion, which had attracted half-a-dozen mostly human officers, was taking place. As he got closer, he realized what was probably causing the commotion was the towering krogan in crimson-red armor.

“I am not going anywhere. You’re going to let me out of here. And then I am going to kill fist. If you interfere with either of those, I will kill you,” roared the reptile-like alien.

Shepard had never really met a krogan; except for the few pirates and mercenaries he had killed on the job. They were always so impulsive, reckless, stupid, and yet so invincible. He still would have preferred to not come here at all, but he was trying to do things a little more “by the books” while he was here on the citadel with Anderson.

Garrus interjected himself into the conversation, breaking the tension. “Listen, rookies,” he mocked, “I’ll take care of the krogan, alright. How about y’all get yourself some donuts or something.”

“Shut the fuck up Garrus” someone snarled back, but gradually, the mob of officers soon dissipated until it was just Garrus, Shepard, and the very mean looking krogan.

“What do you want, turian. Trying to throw me in that cell won’t work well for you” the krogan stated with a sadistic smile.

“No, actually, quite the opposite. See, we heard you were going after Fist, and we were just planning to go after him as well. I thought we’d be more efficient together” Garrus stated.

“I work alone, officer” the krogan replied, a conviction of which Shepard knew well. He knew it was going to be a waste of time trying to get people to help. People never helped one another, after all. Why bother trying?

The krogan turned to the turian’s companion, and a sudden wave of revelation came over him. “I know you. You’re that human soldier.”

Shepard crossed his arms and leaned on one leg. “And what if I am? What’s it mean to you?” While his outer demeanor remained menacing, internally, he grew worried as the seconds dragged by. He had killed a lot of these things over the years, at least the remaining ones, anyway.

“You’re famous among the krogan, boy! Your brutality has not gone unnoticed. It is the sign of a true warrior. Out of all the beings in this galaxy, you’re one of the few that some krogan fear” he stated with particular excitement.

“Umm…thanks, I guess” Shepard replied, although still confused. The krogan acted like he should have been proud of his handy work, but he never had been. It was a means of existence, not a desire. However, Shepard realized how he could capitalize on the opportunity. “If we attack Fist’s place together, we can ensure he’s dead. If we go in alone, the chance that we fail our mission is greater. If what you say is true, then you know you’re in for a treat.”

“Huh, I guess you’re right. I always did want to see what all the fuss is about. But Fist needs to die, that is my mission in all circumstances. Understand?”

“Completely. Now enough talk. Time is short, and the longer we stand here talking, the more likely Fist is to get away” Shepard replied.

All Garrus could do was nod and lead the way back to his vehicle, staying silent in order to keep the “peace”, or as much peace as there could be when you had two famous killing machines right behind you.

* * *

Alenko and Williams stood leaning against a wall, waiting for the rest of their ‘team’ to return.

“What the hell is wrong with that guy?” complained Alenko.

“You tell me. You’re the one who was assigned to work with him from the start. I was just unlucky” replied Ashley.

“No, I’m serious. He’s going to get himself, or one of us, killed. How is he even being considered for the Spectres.”

“You’re doubting the ability of corrupt politicians to make bad decisions. You’re such an idealist. I’m telling you, the only thing they look at is kill count and efficiency, nothing else.”

As they spoke, the throbbing beat of the club down the block reverberated through the streets. Homeless people lay huddled on a bunch here or there. All of which contributed to the particularly somber mood. A lot had transpired over the last week, for both of them. They had both lost friends, been shot at, and become utterly horrified of the real under-bully of civilization.

But what really troubled Kaiden was that psychopathic, maniac. Alenko, through his years, had been through some difficult shit too. But he came out of it alright, didn’t he? He never let BAaT camp break him. But whatever Shepard had been through had broken him. That left two possibilities. Shepard must have gone through some difficult shit, or he just breaks really easily. Neither of these scenarios was ones he looked forward to finding truth behind.

His comm rang. _Speak of the devil._

“Hey Kaiden, I’m with Garrus and…uh…we picked up some extra firepower,” stated Shepard. _Great, that’s exactly what we needed. More firepower the way we can blow a hole open on the side of the citadel,_ Kaiden thought sarcastically.

“Meet us near the entrance of Cora’s, we’ll arrive there soon” Shepard continued.

“Yes, sir. We’ll be there” Alenko replied. The comm clicked off. “Williams, let’s go. They’ll meet us at the club” Alenko sighed.

“What’s got you so upset now” she teased back.

“I don’t know. That’s the problem” Alenko replied.


	16. Death's Reckoning

Shepard got out of the aircar. They were a block away from the club, as it was best not to fly in and alert them to their presence. He turned around just in time to see the krogan also get out of the aircar. He laughed a little as the car slightly rose back up, now free from the weight of the krogan. _Fat ass._

“Commander” called a voice from behind him, one he quickly recognized as Ashely’s. He turned around in time to see her look of shock, and Alenko’s look of utter hopelessness, at the krogan mercenary towering behind him.

“This is Wrex. He’s gonna help us get to Fist. Wrex, these are some alliance soldiers I’m with,” Shepard introduced.

“We came to get info on Saren, not blow up half the citadel” Alenko complained.

“Just so you know, if I had to blow up the entire citadel for a mission, I would have done it” Shepard shot back sarcastically.

“Half the people here deserve to die anyway,” Garrus added, “this place, its people, they are hardly worth fighting for.”

Wrex just shrugged his shoulders before responding: “Depends how much, although I’m afraid I would wipe out a lot of my clients. But like I said, it depends on how much. Too much thinking.”

Alenko could only shake his head in dismay. However, it came as no surprise that Shepard would attract similarly violent people. He just carried a certain persona and exuded a method of action in every way he acted. Ashley was similarly dismayed. It was difficult for a religious person, one who believed that life had divine meaning and purpose, to hear life being discussed as if it were a commodity up for trade. However, neither refused to utter any more words. Not only did they also have a mission to complete, they knew, deep down, that they could never stop Shepard even if they wanted to.

[]

The bar had two bouncers at the front this time. It came as no surprise, especially since there had already been a fight once in there today. Now, Shepard was going to increase that counter to two.

Wrex walked up to the bouncers, staring down at them for a couple of seconds. When it became obvious they wouldn’t back down, he uttered one word in a low, rumbly voice: “move.”

But they refused, and instead elected to draw their sidearms. However, with their vision blocked by the krogan, they weren’t able to see the impatiently waiting human soldier with his shotgun drawn, simply waiting for an excuse to use it. With two blasts, Shepard sent their guts flying into the doorway.

By now, bartenders, stripers, and all their clients began to scream and shout at the sound of gunfire. Dozens rushed out of the entrance, passing Shepard and his team. He felt like killing every one of them, they deserved it. They wasted their time and money, down here, while people suffered all around them; their arrogant and unconscious smiles of blissful joy and ignorance; their ability to enjoy life while people like him suffered in agony! Oh, Shepard wanted to empty his gun into the running crowds, into the society that had spat in his face for so long. But no, there were things larger at play here. He did not desire to spend the rest of his life in jail or on death row. So he let them pass. He would get them all later…

After the bar had cleared out, those who remained were clearly no ordinary staff. Sure, they had regular roles in the bar. But no such criminal establishment would operate with proper protection; after all, it was bad for business. Wrex was hit with a hail of gunfire, but he simply shrugged it off. _If only I were that bulky,_ Shepard chided himself. Instead of taking cover, the Krogan ran straight into the room and charged at a cluster of mercs. _Fuck it._ Shepard followed suit, flaring his biotics around him.

He could have given orders out, commanded that the others provide cover fire, or try to call Wrex back from his suicide run. But was any of it worth it? He had tried to play by the rules for so long, and it had never saved him from any death or grief. Why would it now?

“Commander?” called Ashley, but it fell on deaf ears. Shepard charged into the fray, colliding with the mercs and knocking them over as if they were bowling pins. After that, it was easy to kill them; just point your shotgun down as the enemy fumbled to regain control over their weapons, and then relish the blood spatter. _Another kill for the books._

Kaiden and Ashley followed suit, although not as brazenly as their commander. And Garrus… Garrus remained kneeled at the door, sniping anyone who was stupid enough to pop their head up over their cover before Shepard or Wrex could get close enough to kill them.

But after a while, the sounds of gunfire died down, and the screams of mutilated thugs dwindled to a whimper and then nothing. The odd group approached the passageway towards Fist’s office. Shepard reached for the access pad but found it flaring red. He just leveled his shotgun at the panel and fired twice, disabling the electronic locks. He then waved Wrex over to push apart the doors. Once the door was wide enough, he stepped through with his shotgun raised.

“SSStttooppp… right there” came a weak, fumbling voice. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized two men had sidearms pointed at him. They wore no armor, and the fright in their voices made it clear they weren't used to this.

“Drop. Your. Weapons. And maybe I’ll let you live” advised Shepard.

“I…I am serious, don’t go any further” replied the worker’s partner, just as frightened as the first.

“You two don’t look like hardened criminals. I won’t ask again. Drop your weapons, I don’t feel like killing any more good people today” Shepard answered back.

The two workers looked at each other, having a silent conversation whose message was only conveyed by the worry in their eyes. They dropped their weapons, deciding it was better to leave alive than die for a new job. As soon as Shepard heard the clatter of the guns on the floor, he opened fire. The workers collapsed to the floor, their bodies riddled with sizable holes and pouring blood. One of them gurgled in an attempt to speak: “Why? You…promised” came out his deflated statement.

Shepard got closer before responding: “Because. There are no good people. Live by that rule, and no one will betray you.” Unfortunately, they wouldn’t get time to put that advice into action. He leveled his shotgun at the workers and opened fire, turning their heads into exploded watermelons.

“Clear!” Shepard called back, indicating it was safe for the rest of the group to follow through.

Garrus noticed Shepard’s work. It was hard not to, as it covered half the room. “The forensics teams are going to have a fun time cleaning this up” he commented.

The krogan had no comment of his own. He needed none, as he had seen countless scenes play out as this own. But Ashley and Kaiden had heard the entire conversation. These people had surrendered their arms, had agreed to leave; they were civilians for all intensive purposes, nothing more than crate stackers; but no, their remains were splattered all over the room.

The group continued on, walking through the hallway and into a massive open office space, and one prepared criminal. He wore some of the finest armor found on the citadel, and towering on either of his sides were minigun drones. Shepard dove for cover as the hail of bullets obliterated the spot where he had just stood. Wrex, the slow and lumbering mountain that he was, was struck several times as he too ducked for cover. _So Krogan do fear somethings_ , Shepard noted. But upon further consideration, it came as no surprise; no being would survive sustained fire from Gatling cannons, even those that can regenerate.

“We need to take out those guns!” Garrus roared over the gunfire.

“You’re right!” Shepard screamed back as he reached for his grenade belt. Except, he didn’t have those because they had been confiscated by c-sec. “Fuck! I don’t have my grenades.”

“I could try hacking them, but that might take a while” Alenko offered.

Shepard nodded his head in a cold reply. “Everybody, guard this point, we need to give Alenko some time” Shepard ordered. Just because they were out of sight from the miniguns did not mean that Fist couldn’t walk over here and blast them to pieces with whatever piece of illegal tech he had happened to smuggle onto the citadel. Again, Shepard noted the great irony of the situation. He, a soldier that was supposed to be fighting the “good fight,” had his gear confiscated while criminals got to carry around so dangerous not even he was issued them in the military.

The whir of the miniguns stopped, as their targets disappeared from sight back behind the wall. “Come on! You got this far, are you gonna run now?” Fist taunted, trying to coax them into a full frontal assault. Shepard wanted to, but he was rash, not stupid.

_I would have expected him to charge those guns already. Doesn’t he want to die, what is he waiting for?_ Alenko debated inside his head. But he quickly brushed the thought aside as he hacked through the firewall of the first minigun. Apparently, despite the wealth of this thug, he had neglected to get proper security measures installed. Hubris would always be mankind’s downfall. Soon enough, both of the guns stopped firing.

Shepard walked back into the office, weapon raised, closely trailed by Wrex. As soon as Fist saw Shepard, he fired his marksman rifle at the soldier. But that didn’t matter, as Shepard had already surrounded himself in a biotic barrier, anticipating Fist’s attack. Then, in an instant, Shepard threw himself into Fist with his biotics, knocking the man to the floor. He desperately tried to reach for the sidearm at his hip, but Shepard grabbed the man’s arm, bent it in the wrong direction, and snapped it like a twig.

The man cried out in pain, “wait! Please stop!”

_For a crime boss, this man is pathetic._ “Where are they!” Shepard roared.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Fist replied as he tried to get back onto his feet.

Shepard, impatient as always, slammed his knee into the man’s gut, sending him sprawling again. By now, the rest of the team was behind Shepard, scaring Fist even more. He had to get out of here, now. “I won’t ask again! Just ask the fuckers you pay out there. Wait, their dead, and so will you be if you don’t tell me what I want to know!” Shepard demanded.

“What! What do you want?” Fist screamed.

“Where’s the qurian you betrayed the shadow broker over!” Shepard demanded.

“I, I don’t really know” Fist responded, before being dragged by the collar of his armor, lifted into the air, and then slammed back down with a biotic push. The cracking of ribs was easy for anyone in the room to hear.

“Last chance, asshole.”

“I don’t handle that stuff. My second coordinated the meet. He was supposed to meet here in the back alley of the wards…. and” Fist tried to explain.

“And what?” Garrus demanded as he got on a knee in front of Fist’s mangled form.

The man gulped before responding. “He was gonna have some…some…fun, and then kill her.”

“You fucking sick bastard” Ashley snarled. Ever since what had happened to her sister, Ashley had always been super aggressive when it came to matters such as these: disgusting men getting their hands on women who didn’t want them. It almost made her throw up in her mouth, but she had to keep it together.

“You can’t be any more specific than that?” Wrex asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

“Yes! I swear that’s all I know!” Fist replied.

“GOOD!” roared the krogan before he fired his shotgun repeatedly into Fist’s torso before finishing off with the head. Fist’s body was now nothing more than a mangled mess on the floor of blood, synthetic ceramics and polymers, and shattered bone.

“What the hell did you do that for?” asked Alenko.

“That was my contract from the Shadow Broker: kill Fist. He didn’t have any other information for you, so I killed him” the Krogan spoke back.

“Enough,” chided Garrus. “We need to find that quarian as soon as possible.”

Shepard sighed internally again. Another person to save. Another threat to kill at the behest of someone else. He was risking his life for nothing, again, in an endless cycle. He was tired. So tired. _Maybe it would be easier to end it all, now. Join the rest of my handiwork, the suffering I have caused. And it was all so simple! All I need to do is just raise my gun, and the pain would be gone._

“The wards are a big place. Do you suppose we should split up?” Wrex offered.

“I thought your contract was just for Fist,” Ashley asked suspiciously.

“I’m a krogan!” Wrex stated with pride. “We never shy away from a fight.”

Ashley nodded her head, Wrex’s explanation having been enough. “Alenko and I can go with Wrex. Shepard, you want to go with Garrus? They probably know the citadel better than we do” she offered.

“Uhhh…we need to cover more ground. How about Wrex goes with Kaiden, and you can go with Garrus?” Shepard advised.

“And what about you?” Kaiden asked, a little bit confused as to how Shepard would play into all of this.

“I’ll go alone. I work better that way, you know that. Now we have three teams to search down the wards instead of two” Shepard offered,

Kaiden sighed as he rubbed his temples. “Sure,” has his deflated reply. He was fairly sure that whatever Shepard’s intention was anything but benevolent. The man didn’t care about saving anyone, it would make no sense for him to want to split off from the group.

And how right Kaiden was. Shepard really wasn’t in the mood to be running around the citadel’s wards right now. He might search; he might not. It really depended. Maybe blow his brains out in his nihilism. Run away. The possibilities, it seemed, were endless.


	17. Guardian of the Scales

He strolled through the various alleys of the wards. Shepard was in no particular hurry to find anyone or anything. Should he have felt guilty that he was so nonchalant while the rest of his team was sprinting through the wards? Probably. But he had stopped really caring about things a long time ago. He was done. He was quitting after this last stint on the citadel.

He turned the corner, kicking a fallen trash can out of his way. His shotgun hung at his side, fingers loosely holding onto the metal grip. Shepard’s entire body ached from the injuries he had accumulated over the years; the sniper shot from this morning, the small-arms fire at the bar, the scar at the front of his scalp from the explosion on Akuze, the left ulna and radius he had shattered on Torfan, his replacement shoulder, his diminished hearing from standing next to so many explosions, the burn across his left leg from a flamethrower. These injuries had long since been healed, but just the memory of his pain was enough to bring back the agony to his mind’s eye. Now, when he wasn’t in the middle of combat, was when it was at its worst. He’d long since been prescribed chronic pain meds and opioids, which worked for a while, but they gradually lost their effect. So agony became his new realm of existence. See, the thing about killing machines is that they were machines. The more you used the machine, the faster it broke. You could preserve their lifespan if they were welled maintained, but Shepard had never really taken care of himself.

He cast a shadow in the dim light: of a monster walking down the hallways, his shoulders slumped, and eyes burning with intense hatred. “Shepard, we haven’t found anything yet. What about you, over?” informed Alenko over the comm system.

“Nothing,” Shepard replied halfheartedly. _Nothing, just like me._ He rounded another corner and continued to walk. The dim lights were barely enough from him to see where he was going, so it was no surprise he had run into few people. The only question he had now was what to do with his life. He thought there would be more to living, to fighting for what’s “right.” But he worked at the behest of a system, a society so broken and corrupt that people didn’t realize that it had become rotten at its core. Or was he the problem? People like him that upheld the broken status quo at their best and degraded it at their worst. What right did he have, a man that could barely read, to criticize the intricacies of such a complex system?

After a while, Shepard heard something off to one of the side alleys. He stopped before turning his head to peer down the alley. When he squinted his eyes, he could make out several figures in the distance. “Alenko, Williams? Remain on standby, I may have something here” Shepard spoke into the comm.

“Roger that, we’re coming to your position now” Ashley replied.

“Don’t even bother” Shepard sighed back. “I could be wrong, and it could just be a bunch of homeless people.”

“Right,” Kaiden replied before clicking off the comm. He turned to Wrex, stating: “I think Shepard might need some help.”

“Didn’t he say he would be fine alone? You shouldn’t disobey a direct order,” the Krogan replied stoically.

“Shepard’s been saying he is okay for a while,” Kaiden replied cryptically before he waved for the Krogan to follow him towards Shepard’s location.

Meanwhile, Shepard stumbled down the passageway. He really felt like getting a bottle of whiskey, kicking his feet up, and passing out. But instead, he dragged himself onward as if he were a puppet on strings. As he got closer, he could comprehend snippets of conversation.

“Do you have the information?” asked a turian mercenary who held onto an assault rifle. He reached to grope the hooded figure, but his hand was quickly swatted away.

“Where’s the shadow broker? I told you I would only deal with him directly” complained another voice with a slight electronic hint to it. _Is this a fucking AI or something? No, it couldn’t be, she’s asking for the Shadow Broker! This is the qurian._

“Don’t worry about that. Do you have the information?” repeated the turian as he made an attempt to fondle her arm.

“The deal’s off” replied the qurian, hesitation and worry in her voice.

“That’s not how this works” the turian roared back, suddenly much more aggressive.

Shepard just stood back and watched the show. They hadn’t noticed him yet, so why even bother interfering? A small, round object fell to the ground from the quarian’s hands. _What is…,_ Shepard was asking himself before an explosion had gone off. The qurian had already jumped out of the way and behind a stack of abandoned crates.

At the same time, his shield emitter started to smolder and fry. He quickly realized that he was arrogant to assume nobody had seen him; they must have had somebody, cause how would they know to fry his shields? A second later, a shot from a sniper slammed into his good shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the floor. _That explains it,_ Shepard told himself.

He rolled on the floor, trying to put out the fire from the shield emitter. After swatting it out, he crawled behind a wall, hiding like a coward. More shots and screams from the alleyway ensued. He clutched his shotgun, not out of fear, but out of indecisiveness. Another scream rang out, this time from the qurian, as an internal debate raged in Shepard’s mind.

_Am I really going to let this person die in front of me, at the hands of criminals?_

_I am no better than a criminal. What right do I have to interfere?_

_You left Earth because you wanted to be something better. That counts for something._

_Why does intent matter if the consequences are bad?_

_There must be more to life than that._

_But there isn’t, stop suffering for people who wouldn’t do the same for you._

The seconds felt like hours.

“Help!” screamed the qurian, desperation in her voice.

Shepard jumped up, almost as if on command. _I’m doing this for Anderson. One last favor for all he did for me. Then, I’m done. Done,_ he told himself. On the surface, he rationally wanted to explain why he had bothered to stand up at all. But deep down, in his subconscious, he stood up because he knew what it felt like to be invisible, to be unseen. And no matter how much the world betrayed and shitted on him, he charged onward because everywhere he saw himself. The same patterns of violence, suffering, and death.

When he was young, he was idealistic and thought he could change these patterns. When he was older, he believed that the patterns were inevitable, so he lashed out at the world around him in anger. But at some moments, the idealist sometimes chose to wake from its slumber. It was a corrupted sort of idealism, one that replaced justice with revenge and purpose with nihilism towards his own life.

_My shield emitters are gone. If I step into that alley, I will die,_ his mind tried to argue one last time.

_I am already dead. If I die, it is just my luck catching up with me; I’ve died plenty of times already._

He jumped down the steps and processed the battle in a fraction of his second. The quarian hid behind her stack of crates, and the thugs behind the cover of an alcove in the opposite wall. Both sides had already taken damage. The qurian held her gut with one hand when she wasn’t firing, blood streaks visible on her gun and on the floor. From the thugs, one lay dead on the floor with half of his face missing.

Knowing he had no shields, he flared a biotic barrier around him. He charged the thugs, who fired at him. His barrier flickered out of existence just as he rammed two of them into the wall. He finished them off quickly with several shotgun blasts before looking around for new targets again.

Just as his eyes spotted a salarian, his mind exploded with an intense headache emanating at the base of his skull. He tried to knock the salarian over with his biotics, but that only seemed to make the problem worse. He realized that his amp must have been hacked, so he tried sniping with his shotgun, not bothering to recognize the irony of the tactic.

The salarian opted to fall behind cover and call for backup instead of trying to take out a vanguard. Shepard started walking towards the salarian’s position when he was suddenly thrown backward. The armor that had protected him thus far shattered at the impact of the armor-piercing round. However, the round, although fragmented by the impacted, continue to pass through Shepard’s midsection. He tried to move, but his body refused to listen; he had, after so many years of punishment, pushed it to its breaking point. Shepard lay on the floor, waiting for the finishing shot. He thought he had come to peace with dying long ago, but even those who jump off the building harbor regret on the drop down.

The clock continued to tick. _They’re rifle as probably almost ready to fire again by now,_ Shepard told himself. These were his last seconds to make amends with all that he had done. But where would he begin? Killing Marcus? The civilians on Torfan? The kid he child out of racism? His inability, after 30 years, to find the people responsible for killing his parents. _Huh, my parents. If there is a god, would he let me into heaven for a day, just to meet them, before he put me in hell? I doubt it._

Shepard waited for the shot. Waited for the shot that never came. The sniper pulled the trigger on his rifle, only to find it still overheated. The quarian smirked at the man’s screams as his hands held the burning rifle. However, she had little time to admire her work. She stumbled out of her cover, still clutching her midsection, and made her way towards the mysterious human. With one hand, she grabbed him under the armpit and tried to drag him, only to find him unmovable. Nevertheless, she refused to give up. She took her other hand, the one bloodied from holding back the blood from her midsection, and grabbed under the soldier’s other armpit. At this point, why did it matter trying to prevent herself from bleeding out if she would later die from an infection anyway?

She tried to pull him back, but he barely budged. _How can he be so heavy,_ she complained internally. She knew she only had a couple of seconds left, but she refused to give up, and instead pulled with all her weight. His body slowly moved across the floor, red streaks of blood left in his place. Just before she could completely drag the soldier behind the crates, another shot from the sniper barely missed her.

Shepard lay on the floor, confused. He tried to speak but ended up coughing up blood instead. After a couple of seconds, he regained some of his composure, clarity returning to his mind. He knew more of those mercs would be coming, and soon enough, he would be overrun. But Alenko or Williams would be coming, right?

_No, no they won’t_ , he quickly realized. He tried activating his comm, but all he could hear was static. “Alenko…Williams…is…anyone there?” he struggled to say. “I need…immediate backup at my location.” However, the broken comm never sounded any reply or confirmation that the others even heard the message. He had been quick to shoo off their assistance before, and now, he would die here. As it would seem, the quarian had only extended his life by a couple of minutes.

“You…should run” Shepard gasped, the effort making his vision hazy.

“I can’t just leave you here. You’ll die,” the quarian replied, panicked. She started to administer her last pack of medigel to the soldier’s major wounds, but it became readily apparent it would not be enough.

“Should…have saved that…for yourself. I’m going…to die…and so will you… if you don’t run,” warned Shepard, straining to add conviction to his tone. “Go. I’ll cover you. Find…Captain Anderson and tell him Shepard sent you. Give him… the information.”

She suddenly got very defensive, concerned that this random stranger knew about the information and her predicament. After all, he could have been another one of these criminals. “How do you know about that? Who sent you?” she demanded.

Shepard was about to answer when he heard the march of boots down the hallway. Game. Over.

“Drop your weapons and surrender, and maybe I’ll let you leave” boomed a snide, powerful voice.

“Go fuck yourself,” Tali screamed back. Her odds were slim, but she didn’t want to die. She thought she still had so much to look forward to in life: completing her pilgrimage, making her father proud, or severing the fleet. But it became readily apparent that her dreams had come crashing down.

“You just…lost your chance,” Shepard stated in defeat. Once more, he had fallen into the trap of trying, and this time, he would die. In his final moments, he again realized how other people let you down. See, they befriend you or pretend they are your friends. Then, you get attached. Then, you do stupid things because you feel like you owe them.

_I lay, dying here, because of Anderson and his stupid politics._

_That’s not true! I volunteered for all of this._

_He took advantage of me._

_He helped me out more than most, even when he didn’t have to. Doesn’t that count for something?_

The seconds had dragged by. And before he knew it, the probability of escape for either Shepard or the quarian reached zero. A turian with a heavily scarred face and full combat armor appeared at their side, pointing a heavily modified assault rifle at them. Tali fired her shotgun at the turian, but his shields were better than anything Shepard ever had, so the shots harmlessly bounced off. With one armored claw, he grabbed Tali’s shotgun and wrestled it out of her hands.

“Where did you hide it?” asked the mercenary.

“I’m not telling you anything. You people don’t deserve anything,” Tali shouted back, still defiant.

“Then don’t make enemies of the powerful,” the turian snarled. He grabbed her by the arm and effortlessly dragged her out from behind the crates. She struggled to get free, but it was a lost cause. He punched her faceplate, causing several hairline cracks to appear. Inside her suit, warnings blared, but there was nothing she could do.

“You’re going to die here today. The only difference is how quickly. Give me the recording, and I’ll snap your neck and be done with it,” the turian stated with a grin that was eerily similar to the one Shepard would occasionally flash. “If you won’t, I’ll torture you until you’ll be begging for us to kill. And when you finally hand it over, before you die, I have guys here who haven’t had fun in a while,” the turian added sadistically.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself. You are not getting it.”

The mercenary pondered. He wasn’t actually planning to draw out here torture that long. He needed to kill her as soon as possible. Switching tactics, he walked over to the fallen human and leveled the muzzle of his rifle at his head. “How about him? Are you going to let more people die because of your stupidity?”

Oddly enough, this tactic seemed to work rather well. “No, no don’t hurt him,” she begged. If one more person got killed because of her moral vendetta against a spectre, she didn’t think she could live with herself. She’d already gotten several of her friends killed and had failed to succeed. _Maybe the trail should just end with me?_

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you where it is” Tali complied.

Shepard, however, was less than grateful. Rather, he was horrified. At her stupidity, because this mercenary was going to kill them both anyway, as it was exactly what Shepard would have done if the situations were reversed. And at his weakness, for not being able to fight and instead lying on the floor like a sick dog.

“Don’t…give him…shit. He’s just going to…kill us both” Shepard sputtered out. Although, if he was being honest with himself, what choice did she have. If she had traded the evidence and his life in exchange for her freedom, he didn’t really think he could blame her. It’s what he had expected anyway.

“Shut the fuck up!” the turian snarled as he stomped on Shepard’s torso.

Shepard was plunged unbearable pain, causing his vision to go hazy again. He, with his broken body and mind, just wanted his predicament to end already, however it ended. Shepard made eye contact with the turian, seeing the greedy hunger in his eyes. The turian knew who Shepard was. _He would probably sell my corpse off to some pirates or keep my skull as a trophy. Should I be honored or horrified?_

* * *

Alenko rushed down the hallway, futilely coaxing the slower krogan to run faster. He had grown concerned ever since Shepard’s comm dropped from contact. He’d already called Williams and told her to meet him at the last location of Shepard’s transponder, but he was afraid he wouldn’t make it. For all he knew, the man could already be dead, either from his own hands are at the hands of others.

Soon enough, he could hear the sounds of shouting and gunfire echo through the rather creepy quietness of the wards. He wasn’t at all surprised, given the nature of the mission and the man leading it.

"Williams, what’s your ETA to the location. Over?”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Copy that,” Alenko replied.

He finally reached the alley but refused to walk in yet. “What are you doing?” Wrex complained, confused as to why they were not going in and fighting.

Alenko signaled for quietness as he listened in. He could hear a mercenary making demands and a frightened woman. But why couldn’t he hear Shepard? Usually, Shepard made his presence know. Logically, the fact Shepard couldn’t be heard meant that the man was down. _This is bad._

Williams and Garrus soon arrived from the opposite direction. Alenko, using hand signals coordinated the attack plan. It went something like this: Wrex would charge down the alley and soak up shots; Alenko and Williams would follow behind him, killing the mercs as soon as they got close enough; lastly, Garrus would stay at the top of the stairs, providing cover fire with his rifle.

Wrex charged the opposing forces and, like a wrecking ball, knocked them all down. Just as planned, the alliance soldiers followed just behind him, finishing off any survivors Wrex had not already killed with the brute force of his stampede. Alenko spotted the quarian, making sure to protect her from any coming fire. However, he almost missed the heavily injured person lying on the floor. In the rush of combat, he also almost failed to recognize who it was: Shepard. It was so unlike anything he had seen from the man before. The only clue to his identity was the shattered alliance armor and the N7 logo over his right breastplate.

Shepard had lost a lot of blood, and his eyes were distant and unresponsive. But Alenko didn’t even get a chance to reach Shepard before a sniper started pelting fire on their position. Thankfully, Garrus quickly dispatched the problem, but it was unlikely his swiftness would change any outcome. 

Alenko kneeled at Shepard’s side, surveying the damage. “Garrus,” Alenko shouted, “we’re going to need a fucking hospital!”

“Already done! C-sec should be here soon as well” replied the officer as he walked down the steps, sniper still raised and scanning the area.

Alenko returned his attention to Shepard. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Shepard,” he tried again, as he continued to apply more medigel. The one ray of hope was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Alenko got back up and faced the quarian. “What the hell happened?” he asked in surprise. He didn’t think Shepard would get overwhelmed so easily.

“They overloaded his shields,” she managed to gulp out. “And…he got shot. I-I don’t know from where.”

Garrus finally reached the scene, his detective instincts kicking in. “This was a sniper, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these,” he noted cryptically.

“Seen one of what?” demanded Ashley.

“This shot isn’t from a conventional ammo block, it’s armor-piercing. I’ve only seen this a couple of times, and only the very best get access to that kind of stuff here on the citadel.” Garrus elaborated. “If I were to say, this is most likely Saren’s work.”

Just mentioning the spectre’s name reminded them all why they were here. Wrex turned to the quarian. “Girl, do you have the evidence on Saren?” he demanded.

“Yes, but not here. I’ll only give it to you when I’m safe,” she offered.

Kaiden sighed. Another obstacle in the path of completing this mission. Now, he felt some sympathy for the soldier that lay on the floor. But Alenko knew Shepard probably wanted this to happen. Otherwise, he would have never gone alone or refused backup. The only question: would Shepard make it out of this like he had always done, or would he die?

Given the ever-increasing probability of the commander’s death, he knew the sad fate that awaited Shepard. A small, marble tombstone in a field on Earth, with his name and code written above his rank. But there would be no memorial nor funeral ceremony. The man had nobody who cared enough to show up, except maybe Anderson, who wasn’t even family. Even then, Shepard, and all his heroism, would probably be expunged and redacted after his egregious crimes came to light. Even in death, it seemed, this man would get no rest. It may have begged the question if he deserved any, but in the brutal, utilitarian calculus of war, there was a possibility that Shepard did more good than harm overall.

* * *

AN: Was it just me who got a little teary-eyed?


	18. Inception

He remained trapped in the black abyss of his mind. He saw images of war, genocide, destruction…and for what? This mythical army of machines slaughtering people again and again. Expect, where they really mythical, since the image of that monstrous machine on Eden Prime kept appearing? Or maybe, was he in purgatory, condemned to watch on repeat actions reminiscent of his own?

“Give up. Concede to our will!” boomed a powerful voice.

Even if Shepard wanted to respond, he remained a frozen spectator, incapable of affecting anything. He felt a sense of humiliation in that, despite all his might and ruthlessness, he remained powerless.

But soon enough, his vision changed. He was back home, on Earth. He blinked his eyes, surveying the situation. It took a second for Shepard to piece together everything around him. He was a teenager again, lanky, weak, indecisive, and scared. A frightened man was tied up in a chair, and Shepard heard the cruel command of a voice: "You kill him, or I will kill you both."

“Please man…please don't do this…I told you what you wanted," begged the helpless man in front of him.

Now, John remembered where he was, and he knew what would happen next. He heard the tell-tail click of a gun’s safety being turned off, just as he remembered. The man in front of him begged for his life. John raised the gun, pointing it at the man’s head, just as it happened all those years ago. Except, something was different this time, at least in his mind. He didn’t want to kill this man, so he fought to prevent his arm from rising. But it was no use. Now, the barrel of the gun lined up with the man’s head. Next, he would pull the trigger, just like he remembered. Again, he tried to stop himself, but he was like an automaton following orders. Shepard was helpless to stop his crime, no matter how hard he tried. The room fell away, leaving only Marcus and Shepard standing in a void.

“You’re weak. You’ve always been weak,” stated Marcus.

“Fuck you. I’ll stop you once and for all,” Shepard shouted back.

“How?” Marcus asked with an amused but slightly sadistic laugh. “You couldn’t stop me now, why do you think you can do it later?”

“I killed you, asshole! I did stop you,” Shepard replied with a hint of pride.

“You’re a fool to believe that. You couldn’t kill me when it mattered. Don’t you see, your actions… they’re worthless. Meaningless. Why do you bother trying?”

“Because you don’t run the fucking world,” Shepard replied, throwing a punch at Marcus. But in the dream, Shepard was no soldier. He was just a boy. Marcus easily caught Shepard’s fist in his palm and bent it backward, breaking the wrist bones. He then planted a kick in Shepard’s side, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Pain and suffering, those are the currencies of the world,” lectured Marcus. “Do you so easily forget what you learned, what the world taught you?”

“Shut up! I don’t have to listen to you,” Shepard screamed back. He got up again, cradling his wrist, but eager to defend himself against this tyrant.

“But I am you. How do you stop yourself?” laughed Marcus as he disappeared.

In his place, the figure of a man started to form. Ashen Bones were created out of the abyss, a stark contrast to the bright white they should have been. Flesh started to cover these bones, and Shepard watched in horror as layer upon layer of sick, greenish tissue assembled itself. He saw the muscle and sinew, the tendons and ligaments, of a powerful muscular system form, and then the half-assembled figure started towards him. Skin began to cover the figure; in some places, it was black and burnt, in others it was heavily scarred and pitted, and some places refused to grow skin altogether, allowing a clear line of sight to the fibrous muscles underneath. Black, armored plates began to encase the form, painfully grafting to the flesh it was supposed to protect. Its head was the last to fully form; the empty eye sockets were gradually replaced by black, beady orbs, where no pupils could be seen. Corrupted flesh coalesced into a face, with nose and lips and ears. The being opened its mouth, and Shepard could see only a couple decayed teeth.

Shepard started to back away at this horrifying sight. He turned to run, but the person jumped on him like an animal. It grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up into the air.

Marcus appeared at the figure's side. “Can you stop yourself, Shepard?”

He tried to choke out a reply, but it was no use while in this iron vice.

“You could never defeat me because you could never defeat yourself.”

Seeking to prove Marcus wrong, he tried to pry the fingers off his throat, or even kick the armored person. He accomplished nothing.

Eventually, his vision began to darken as he struggled for breath.

* * *

The EKG connected to Shepard was spiking and eventually flatlined. Doctors rushed into the room with a defibrillator and attempted to restart his heart.

“One, two, clear!” Nothing.

“One, two, clear!” Nothing.

“One, two, clear!” Nothing.

“One, two, clear!” The EKG registered a brief pulse before flatlining again.

“One, two, clear!” On the fifth try, his heart restarted.

Shepard’s vitals stabilized, and he was dossed with medication while the doctors discussed what to do next. Their patient, a decorated Alliance commander, had arrived at Huerta Memorial less than twelve hours ago, gravely injured in a firefight in the wards. How he had managed to survive had been a miracle on its own, given his extensive injuries: several internal hemorrhages, radiation poising from what appeared to be polonium rounds, blood loss, and several metal fragments that had become lodged inside him.

They had expected the soldier to die, but he somehow managed to survive, even against all the odds. They had already repaired the internal injuries and stemmed the bleeding; now, it was a waiting game to see if an infection would take hold.

* * *

Shepard was in another dream. He found himself pointing a gun at a young man, which he quickly recognized as the pistol Marcus had given him.

“Kill him,” Marcus demanded.

Shepard, without hesitation, obliged. He pulled the trigger without a second thought.

Marcus then disappeared. As the body on the floor bled out, he soon struggled to stand upright. His body armor began to crack and drop to the floor. Chunks of his flesh fell off, hitting the floor with wet smacks. He collapsed onto his knees, but as his muscles atrophied, he soon completely hit the ground. He was now eye level with the boy. Even though he couldn’t move, he studied the young man’s face, still somehow full of life even as he bled out. The face had an air of familiarity to it, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. As he looked into the boy’s eyes, he saw a horrible reflection: a face, with necrotic flesh giving way to bone. But what frightened him the most in the reflection were the black orbs that were his eye sockets.

Marcus reappeared again, ready to give his final lecture. He bent down and readjusted the boy's head so Shepard could get a better look.   
“You…you tricked me,” Shepard mumbled in defeat as he realized he this boy was: his younger self.

“No, Shepard. You did this to yourself,” Marcus replied with surprising calmness.

“Why?” he croaked out before the world descended into blackness.

* * *

Shepard’s eyes snapped open in fear and confusion. He sat forward before getting out of bed. He felt no pain, even as he tore various stitches. He threw the door open and started down the hallway to an unknown destination. He was looking for something, but he did not know what. A doctor approached him, shocked that he was out of bed. Shepard tried to walk past, but the doctor refused, insisting that he return to his room. However, Shepard did not care; he needed to leave, to escape from this prison. He tossed the doctor aside with surprising force, given his state, and marched on. Several nurses tried to reason with him, but he wordlessly walked forward. They futilely tried restraining him as several were dragged along, each hanging on to an arm or leg in the hopes of slowing him down. Shepard rounded the corner when he felt a sharp pain in his neck, and he soon began to feel woozy. He dropped to the floor effortlessly.

* * *

Shepard woke again. However, unlike before, he was now on sedatives so as to prevent him from repeating his earlier fiasco. “Hello,” he called weakly, but nobody answered. He felt so alone and afraid, but he didn’t know why. Small tears started to well in his eyes; it could have been the drugs, or his near-death experience, or maybe a combination of both. But he did not know where they came from. They were unnatural to him, and so he wiped them away, steeling himself. He could vaguely remember dreaming, but like all dreams, he could not remember what had happened. But he could remember the feeling of dread and despair.

A nurse walked in the door. She initially jumped at the speed of Shepard’s reaction but remained calm. She had seen the mess he had caused earlier and therefore sought to complete her task as quickly as possible without walking the commander. However, it seemed that was now impossible.

“Where am I?”

“Huerta…Huerta memorial hospital.”

Shepard tried to get up, only to be stopped by the nurse. “No, don’t do that! You’ll ripe your stitches again. Please, lie back down,” she pleaded.

“I don’t even know you,” Shepard replied with aggravation. “Why should I listen to you?”

“Uh…” the nurse sighed as she slowly backed out of the room.

For the next minute, Shepard just sat still, unsure of what to do or where to go from here. In the midst of his cluelessness, the door opened again, and Shepard focused on it carefully. Might as well have been another assassin. A turian walked threw the door, one that he vaguely recognized. “Officer Vakarian,” addressed Shepard.

Garrus took a seat on one of the chairs, resting his elbows on his legs. He sighed before responding to Shepard, “You know, you really made a mess.”

Shepard chuckled a little before replying, “How bad?”

Garrus flared his mandibles in amusement, a sight Shepard found slightly disturbing. “Well, we have over a dozen dead mercenaries, but I’m sure you don’t care about that.”

“Get to the point,” Shepard spat back.

“We have the information on Saren. Udina has had to clean up a shitstorm for what you did. Oh, and I forgot to mention, you almost died,” Garrus replied sarcastically.

“When can I get out of here. They won’t let me leave,” demanded Shepard.

“Well, you shouldn’t be going anywhere, but who am I to stop you. If you really want, I can sign you out under c-sec authority. Wouldn’t be the first time” Garrus lamented.

“What?”

“Well, they were going to toss you to another hospital in the wards after you attacked the staff. They only agreed to let you stay if an officer was on duty. You didn’t think I was here because I cared, did you?” he chuckled.

The statement noticeably darkened Shepard’s mood, partly because it was true. He had seen hospital scenes in movies or on TV before. The patient would always walk up to a loving family and friends, who showered him or her with flowers and sweets and gifts and get better soon cards. Shepard looked to his left, almost expectant of those things. Instead, he saw nothing, except a small clothing rack that held a uniform. Upon closer inspection, he recognized it as his own military dress uniform. At the base of the wrack were black, polished shoes.

“Ya, Anderson had that sent to your room,” Garrus added.

Shepard felt a pang of guilt. _I’m sorry Anderson, but I am done._ This would be the last time he wore those.


	19. Broken by two minds

Shepard was relieved when Garrus set the aircar down, as he had gotten rather dizzy during the ride. The last thing we wanted to do was throw up all over his dress uniform. However, a sense of irony struck. Why did it matter what would happen to this thing? He never wanted to see it again. What he would do with his life from there, he wasn’t really sure. Maybe ask Wrex for some contacts, but anything would be better than what he currently had.

Shepard stepped out of the aircar and made his way towards Udina’s office. He hobbled slightly, intent on not worsening his recent injuries. In all fairness, he should have stayed there, recovering. But he wanted to leave this place as fast as possible. He hated it here, where the rich and powerful government bureaucrats lived upon the ruins of the crappy city they ran. What annoyed Shepard even more was that even in his best dress attire, these people scowled and silently insulted him. They didn’t need to know who was in order to accomplish this; simply looking at the roughness of his skin, or the dead look in his eyes, was enough to tell these people that Shepard was not one of them.

Getting up the stairs was slightly more difficult than Shepard expected, especially since he found himself hanging onto the railing for dear life. _I really should have stayed at the hospital,_ Shepard lamented, but it was too late now. Besides, the sooner he left, the less painful it would be.

Garrus rang the buzzer on Udina’s office, waiting for the door to open.

“So, what evidence did she have on Saren?” asked Shepard.

“To be honest, not the faintest clue. As I said, I was tied up with c-sec for most of the time, and then had to deal with your situation,” Garrus replied.

“How are you still awake,” Shepard inquired.

“Drugs we don’t take about,” he elaborated.

Shepard could only nod his head in amusement, with a small smile on his face. The door opened, and Shepard could here a horrifying sound: “Shepard! What are you doing here?” stammered Udina.

“Came to check up on the situation, make sure everything is running smoothly?” Shepard replied sarcastically.

“Hey. Right,” Udina snarled as he opened the door further so they could walk through. Udina started to walk back into his office before continuing to speak. “Bar fights? Firefights in the wards? What on Earth were you thinking Shepard?”

Shepard was about to respond with a less than respectful reply, but something more important caught his attention. Anderson, Ashley, and Alenko sat in comfortable recliners, with the latter two still in their armor. All of their jaws had dropped when they saw Shepard.

Shepard made a slight wave before trying to answer their assumed question, “Garrus didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?” Anderson complained rather loudly.

“I didn’t feel like staying, and I’m fine.”

“Well, you look like shit, so I don’t know what you’re talking about…uhhh…never mind, sir” Ashley snarked, before remembering that she was talking to a superior officer.

“Chief William’s is right, Shepard. You need to recover, especially since it’s only been a day. You’re just going to make the problem worse-” Anderson started to say before Shepard cut him off.

“Look, can we forget about me! What were y’all talking about before I was here.”

“We are going to be presenting our findings to the council in a couple of hours. We were discussing the evidence before you barged in and interrupted” Udina remarked.

_The evidence_ , Shepard recollected, not bothering to ponder about Udina. “I hope she handed it over without a problem. I wouldn’t be surprised if that suit-rat tried to hide it from you. She has caused enough trouble already.”

Behind Shepard, Tali walked out of a shadowy corner of the office, where she had stood, forgotten, while the humans talked about politics, Saren, and what-not. “Y-you don’t have to worry. I gave C-captain Anderson the evidence, just like you said to, Commander,” she mumbled in defeat.

Shepard turned around, facing the quarian. Her shoulders were slumped, she wrung her hands, and her face pointed towards the floor in shame. But Shepard didn’t care. Instead, he stepped upped his attacks: “you know, I almost died for nothing because of you! When somebody tells you to run, what do you think that means, huh?” Shepard lashed out in aggravation.

“I…I don’t know. I just try not to l-leave people behind,” Tali replied meekly.

Shepard started to laugh, almost like an insane person. He knew the signs of an idealist when he met one, and it would be a rude awakening for this quarian. Or rather, the world had already tried to wake her, but she refused to listen.

“Enough!” Anderson chimed in, trying to cool off the conversation. “How about we show Shepard the evidence?” he offered, hoping to change the subject.

Shepard crossed his arms, an action that caused him to groan internally from the pain. But he dared not show a sign of weakness.

The quarian slowly raised a trembling arm, activating her omnitool. How things changed so quickly when she wasn’t on the migrant fleet! One moment, someone would die trying to protect you, and the next, they would be racially demeaning you, even when you had tried to save their life in return. However, she dared not point out this irony. Even in his injured state, she had no doubt that this man could kill her. She was also pretty sure that if she was murdered, even here in an ambassador’s office in front of several witnesses, c-sec would find some way to clear Shepard and blame her. She pulled up the audio file and hit play.

“Eden Prime was a major victory. The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the conduit,” spoke a raspy voice that Shepard quickly identified as Saren’s.

“And one step closer to finding the reapers,” finished an aged, feminine voice.

“Who’s Saren’s slut?” Shepard asked.

“Ultimately, it is unimportant. What matters is that we have evidence to convict Saren of coordinating the attack on Eden Prime. If this isn’t enough for the council, I am not sure what is,” Udina replied.

“I wouldn’t put anything past those alien bastards,” Shepard replied darkly. They’d done enough to ruin his life, why wouldn’t they try again?

Anderson’s eyes grew in alarm. He had known that Shepard didn’t like Aliens, and honestly, he couldn’t blame him; after all, Saren had screwed him over all those years ago. But he always tried to judge on an individual basis. However, what really concerned Anderson was Shepard’s lack of self-control. He probably shouldn’t have expected any better, but he thought at least Shepard would be able to control himself in a room full of aliens!

Garrus sat there with a face of indifference. After years of being a c-sec officer, he’d gotten used to all the different racial hostilities on the citadel. He used to get mad, and inside, he sometimes still does. In some cases, he couldn’t really blame them; getting arrested would make any person scream all the obscenities you can imagine. But then, there were other cases. People who carried a deep hatred for anything that didn’t look like them. And it wasn’t just humans, either. He could find racists from any race on this space rock, even his own people. It was a way of life, a compromise, that you accepted in order to prevent even more conflict.

Meanwhile, Tali retreated into her corner, hiding in the shadows, like most of her pilgrimage. She’d heard the stories, the nightmares, the abuse. Quarians were the lowest of the low outside of the fleet, untouchables. She thought maybe those stories were wrong, that her pilgrimage would be different. Unfortunately, so far, it had been one tragedy after the other.

Alenko broke the ice with a rather legitimate question: “How’d you even find this evidence?”

However, Tali was less than enthused at being shoved back into the spotlight, literally and metaphorically. She reluctantly took a step forward before speaking. “Well…I was on my pilgrimage with some friends, and we ran into some geth. No one has ever captured an intact geth before, so we thought it would, you know make a good pilgrimage gift. We extracted its memory core, but once we realized what we had found…well we thought we should try turning it over to the authorities. But no one would believe us, and Saren started sending assassins after us. Saren… he got the others, and now, I’m all that’s left” she said with great sadness.

“What do you mean the authorities wouldn’t listen. I find it difficult to believe the authorities would discount such series evidence,” doubted Anderson.

Shepard started to chuckle lightly. He knew the truth even before she responded. The system, its promises of protection and security, were meaninglessness. Unless you were a certain person or exposing a certain person, nobody cared about what you had to say. You are the slave of the system, told to follow and do as commanded. Machines. Born to die at the behest of others, either in dangerous mines and factories, or the battlefield. You only question when you are allowed to. _Submit,_ his mind voiced.

Anderson’s gaze quieted Shepard, at least temporarily so Tali could answer the question. Something had snapped in the man recently, making him more dramatic than usual. But Anderson would have to figure this out later.

“Well, no one would believe me since I was a quarian,” Tali glumly replied to Anderson’s question.

“Not surprised,” Garrus mumbled, having done it himself, or seen it from others countless times. A guilty reality he was not going to admit at this moment in time.

“How’d you even get your hands on a geth memory core. No one’s been able to do that before,” Alenko asked.

“Well, I mean…the geth were quarian creations. We built them, and although they’ve changed, we’re still experts” she replied.

Shepard did not like what he heard. “Wait a second, so you’re telling me that the quarians built the geth that attacked Eden Prime!” Shepard roared as he took a step towards Tali, pointing an accusing finger at her. _See, I knew I shouldn’t have bothered helping her,_ his mind screamed. _I have been betrayed, yet again._

“Wait, no! We lost control of them over three centuries ago! The quarians lost our entire planet to them. Now, we live on a fleet of slowly decaying ships, out in space. We hate the geth just as much as you do!” she cried.

Shepard backed down, satisfied with the answer, although still mad. “What are you even doing so far from home anyways, causing problems with spectres” Shepard spat.

“As I said, I was on my pilgrimage,” Tali managed to say with pride. But in actuality, the pride that any quarian should have felt on their pilgrimage, the pride she started out with, had long go disappeared.

“You keep talking about this…pilgrimage. What is it exactly?” Williams asked.

Tali took a deep breath before replying. “It originally started as a way to increase genetic diversity among the ships in the fleet. When a quarian reaches adulthood, they are sent out from the fleet and need to find a new ship to serve on. But, in order to gain acceptance on a new ship, they are expected to provide a gift or something of value to the captain. So quarians leave their home and search the galaxy for anything they could bring back to help the fleet.”

“So, what made you think a geth memory core would make a good gift?” Udina asked skeptically, crossing his arms over his chest.

“After 300 years, we still know so little about the geth. Finding an intact memory core would give us so much information on how they’ve changed, and we could use that to try and retake our homeworld,” Tali replied wistfully.

“Did that memory core tell you why the geth decided to ally with Saren,” Shepard cut in.

“The geth normally hate organics, so it’s extremely odd that they decided to work for Saren. From the data I’ve seen from the memory core, the geth are worshiping a reaper named _Sovereign_ , which just so happens to be working with Saren,” Tali answered.

“What are these reapers?” Udina demanded.

Shepard’s pupils dilated and his eyes grew distant as he faced Udina. The muscles in his face went slack. And his voice was monotone, almost robotic. “They are the vanguard of your destruction. The age of humanity is ended.”

Anderson got up, concerned. “Shepard?” he asked, “are you alright?”

“Soon, only ruin and corpses will remain. There is no escape, no hope!” Shepard shouted back. He cradled his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt as if he was no longer in control of his body, of his words, of his actions. It was an alien feeling, almost as if he was being complied to do so… willingly.

Anderson reached Shepard and held his shoulders. “Shepard, snap out of it!” Anderson ordered in his command voice.

Shepard dropped to one knee, feeling woozy and unstable, despite Anderson’s support. “Give…me…a…second,” Shepard begged, his voice in pure agony.

Everyone in the room stayed silent, too shocked to say a word. After an indiscernible amount of time, Shepard rose from the floor. “I…I don’t know what happened,” stated Shepard, his tone faltering. For the first time in a very long time, Shepard bore an unfamiliar look in his face: fear. Emotions and feelings that he had long away left for dead on the battlefield bubbled to the surface. But these were not his emotions, at least not all of them. Some of the fear was residual, imparted from the beacon and its haunting, yet unclear message. However, what truly frightened Shepard was the slaughter that played over and over again in his mind’s eye. Shepard’s eyes remained distant, almost as if peering into another universe.

“Shepard, what do you see,” Anderson requested.

“Synthetics slaughtering people. So many…and the reapers…” Shepard trailed off, lost in his hallucination. Shepard had done many horrible things, killed so many people, and spilled so much blood. And yet this vision was enough to bring the man to his metaphorical knees.

Anderson could only wonder what Shepard was seeing from the beacon's vision. Or maybe, had the soldier finally gone completely mad. He wasn’t sure which was worse. “Did the memory core tell you anything else about the reapers,” Anderson begged, trying to find an answer to all this.

“According to the geth, the reapers were a sentient machine race that wiped out the protheans 50,000 years ago. But then, they vanished without a trace. I’m sorry, but there is nothing more. And definitely nothing that could help the commander” she replied.

“I’m… Fine. I don’t need help,” Shepard responded with his voice stuck in his throat. As the vision subsided, life returned to his eyes, and he tried to shrug off what had just happened.

“You belong in psych ward Shepard!” barked Udina.

“Shut your mouth,” Shepard grumbled back.

* * *

Everybody but Udina and Anderson left the embassies. It had been a long conversation and tense conversation, so everyone was thankful to finally leave. It was better to leave the political crap to actual politicians.

Alenko and Williams were headed back to the Normandy for a nap; they preferred to be rested in front of the council rather than running on caffeine. That left Shepard, Garrus, and Tali standing on the ground floor of the embassy, unsure of how to burn the next few hours. Shepard had thought about already leaving, but he wanted to wait until after he exposed that blasted turian and put him behind bars. There was nobody he hated more than those who bothered to attack civilian colonies, and this wasn’t a surprise given his past. He felt like it was his obligation; if he couldn’t catch the ones who did it to him, at least he could get others. _Huh, maybe a bounty hunter._

“So, three hours to go. What are we supposed to do now?” demanded Shepard.

“Uh… not sure exactly. Actually, maybe you could collect some of your old gear from the prescient,” offered Garrus, “most of it is still in the evidence locker.”

“Why would I want any of that?” Shepard replied.

“I mean, you had some pretty hefty armaments, but if you want to donate it to me, I’d be more than happy,” snarked Garrus. “Also, you might want to get your omnitool back. Seems kinda personal if you ask me,” he added.

“Fine,” Shepard replied. After all, he did like his guns. They were basically the only things he bothered to spend some of his money on. He’d spent countless hours cleaning them, caring for them…they were basically the friends he never had. The friends that would stick with you through the darkest hole you feel into. It would feel like a betrayal if he left them behind.

Garrus turned around to face Tali and told her “You should probably come with, just in case any more of Saren’s assassins are out there. Or, I mean you could stay here too.”

Tali took a second to think about it before choosing the first option. It had to be more interesting than sitting in a lobby doing nothing. She nodded her head in a silent reply.

* * *

Garrus swiped his ID on the lock before lowering his eye to the retinal scanner.

“Got a lot of security on this thing,” Shepard commented.

“I can’t even tell you how many times people have tried to break in here and destroy evidence. We didn’t really have a chose,” Garrus explained.

The scanner beeped before turning green. Garrus grabbed the door handle with both hands and started to pull with all his weight, slowly moving the heavy door to allow entrance. “I’ll be back with your stuff. You know how it is: we can’t allow people back here,” he elaborated.

The door slammed shut behind Garrus and its security measures reset. _Yep, no way I’m getting in there._ Shepard stood there in awkward silence. He was never one for small talk or conversation.

“So, umm… I never got a chance to thank you for what you did in the alley. You saved my life.”

Shepard was quiet for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say exactly. He was usually in the business of taking lives, not saving them. He knew what he should have said, what people like Kaiden or Anderson would have said. Three words: you are welcome. But Shepard didn’t feel like saying them. He wasn’t doing anyone a favor, he did what he did because he was ordered to, for the most part. He opted to stay quiet. Sometimes, not saying anything speaks louder than words.

Tali was a bit embarrassed by the silence. It was almost as if she didn’t matter to the world, mattered so little that someone saying “you’re welcome” to her would lower their worth. But she had grown to expect it as a quarian. She looked at the floor and started to hobble slightly in place, trying to pass the time.

“You’re bad at following orders, you know,” Shepard finally replied. Despite his hatred of the service, he stood at parade rest, with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet 12 inches apart. Some things, it would seem, would always follow him.

“I know. I’m sorry. It was stupid, and I wasn’t thinking, and I put the information at risk, and” Tali rambled before being cut off by Shepard.

“Pro-tip for the rest of your ‘pilgrimage’,” Shepard mocked with air quotes, “learn how to not apologize” Shepard stated.

Before Tali could respond, the door burst open. Garrus dragged a heavy crate over the floor and to Shepard. “There’s a lot of stuff” he stated, out of breath, “help me get this to my office.”

Shepard, still injured from yesterday’s events, decided it would not be a good idea to start lifting heavy crates. He opted to use his biotics to lift the crate, partly to prevent further injury and partly to show off a little. “Lead the way,” Shepard prompted Garrus.

When they arrived at Garrus’ office, Shepard let down the crate with a loud thud. He had a dull headache in the back of his head, leading him to surmise that his amp wasn’t fully back up. Garrus turned on the lights, revealing the rest of the room to his guests. The room was rather spartan, lacking any amenities. Stacks of paper, oddly enough, sat scattered over the desk. A single photo frame hung from the wall, detailing a smiling family of turians, which Shepard assumed was Garrus’.

“Your family?” Shepard asked, pointing to the picture.

“Ah, ya. Those are my parents and sister. I haven’t seen them in years, though, and the photo is even older” Garrus explained as he started to unlock the crate.

Shepard took the time to mull over the irony. It seemed that wherever someone turned they were condemned to loneliness. They either didn’t have a family, or they did and just never spoke with them. The sick ironies of life.

And yet he was still jealous. At least Garrus had something to return to, somebody who loved him, or who could pick him up when the times were tough. Shepard had nobody, and he probably knew it would remain that way for the rest of his life. He’d grown to accept it, or rather, to embrace it. Shepard was born into the darkness of the world and had been molded by it. He didn’t see the light until he was already a man, and by then, it was nothing more than a blight, an infection, a weakness. So, happiness and friendship were cruel to him; it was something he knew he should have wanted and needed, but he never really desired it. It was like the red sand addict who the knew the drug was bad for them and that they should stop using; but instead of attempting to stop, they would just use more red sand.

It was a mode of existence. It was what this shitty world gave him. It was what he thought he had to do to survive. Use the pain to drive himself forward, into the unknown abyss of his future. But deep down, in his subconscious, what he really used the pain for was to make himself feel better. He felt that his suffering and pain made him better than others. He used it as an excuse, a justification for all the terrible things he had done in his life. Because sometimes all he wanted to do was to make the world hurt, to make others feel his pain. And then maybe when they were all on the same level, he posited, would he be noticed by others. It was his sick way of calling for attention, one that only seemed to send him deeper down the rabbit hole, more alone than before.

Garrus popped the lid off the box, revealing what lay beneath. Shepard reached inside and picked up his shotgun. With the weapon in his hands, he felt right at home. Flacks of dry blood, probably his own, covered the weapons gripe, but he would take care of it later. Reluctantly, he set the gun aside to rummage through the crate again. He found his omnitool and activated it. The screen was a flurry of notifications but opted to shut the thing down instead of reading through what he had missed. Next, he removed his sniper and pointed it out the window, almost as if he was shooting something, in order to test the scope. The fact that Garrus was ogling the weapon was also not lost on him.

All that remained in the box was the remains of his armor. Just looking at the mess brought back intense pain, and he stumbled a bit as he put a hand over his gut. Garrus swung a chair around before Shepard collapsed into it. Shepard closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to manage the pain. He opened his eyes again, surveying his armor. It was difficult for him to look at, mostly because he couldn’t believe he had ever been inside that armor.

Steeling his mind, he reached in and heaved the shattered carcass out of the box and onto the floor. He got up again and simply stared at it for a long time. “I don’t understand. My shields are better than this” Shepard complained.

“Well, the mercenaries you were fighting had some pretty heavy equipment, commander. I’m not surprised they were able to shred right through your defenses,” Garrus tried to explain.

Shepard thought back to the alleyway, to the events that had transpired. He kicked the armor over so he could see its backside now. Scorch marks and soot-covered a good portion of the backplates. Shepard leaned down to inspect closer. Damn, did his shield emitters really get fried!

“These things are supposed to have military encryption. It should have stopped the mercs though,” Shepard tried to explain.

Unbeknownst to him, a curious Tali opened her omnitool. To her, it was clear that the commander hadn’t the first clue about technology. Her omnitool scanned the room, looking for the shield emitter’s connection. Normally, it should have been hidden from view, but Shepard’s was out in the open, simply waiting for the first malevolent actor to take advantage. Her fingers flew across her omnitool as she hacked into the shield emitter; Garrus saw this but opted to not say anything. Soon enough, Tali had gained control of the shield emitters' computer and started to comb through it. _What an idiot!_ she quietly told herself as she discovered several things.

However, what she wanted to say was very different than what she could say to such a dangerous man. “Commander, I think I found the problem,” Tali squeaked.

Shepard turned to face her, his eyes narrowing in skepticism. “Well?” he asked, expectantly.

“Well, I don’t even know where to start” she started off in shock. “The firmware hasn’t been updated or patched in ages; you’re on version 10.17, but that’s almost two years old. I know for a fact most alliance personal have updated to 11.03. But the worst part is the fact that you have geth subroutines actively trying to make your shields easier to find and drop!”

Shepard just started back at her faceplate, his expression one of cluelessness. “What?” Shepard asked in confusion. “Do you think you can explain that in a way I can understand?” he asked.

“What she’s trying to say, commander” Garrus jumped in, “is that you haven’t updated the software on the emitter. Usually, those get issued to prevent any newly discovered exploits. If you haven’t updated it, your stuff becomes very vulnerable. Also, you have geth programs in there. That’s why you got hacked.”

Shepard crossed his arms over his chest. “They said the updates were recommended! I still don’t understand why this is a problem.”

“Think of it like a gun. The manufacturer found a problem with the gun. If you don’t fix the problem, it becomes a bigger problem, and then your gun doesn’t work,” Garrus tried to explain with something he thought would be more familiar to the Shepard.

Tali cringed at the example. Guns and software were two, completely separate fields that should not be conflated! But she would let it slide; from the flustered look in the soldier’s eyes, it was clear that he now understood.

Shepard felt stupid but mostly mad at himself. He was supposed to be a lethal soldier who knew his footing in any situation. Now, he had just been outsmarted by a vagrant and a police officer. He scratched the back of his head and finally replied to the tech duo: “I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind next time.”

Karma was a bitch, it would seem. It was so easy for him to criticize others for their stupidity and mistakes, but he frequently failed to recognize that he was also not infallible.


	20. Failed Master

The councilors looked at one another, each with shock and embarrassment in their eyes. Saren had been caught, irrefutably. Their trust in the great Spectre had been misplaced, and now, they would bear the political consequences of it. But for now, their main priority was to end this meeting as quickly as possible; they were embarrassed, after all. Unfortunately, they were only embarrassed that they had been caught in public, not that they were wrong.

“You have provided irrefutable evidence that Saren Arterius is responsible for the attack on Eden Prime and is allied with the geth” spoke the Asari councilor.

“As such, Saren’s Spectre status will be revoked effective immediately,” added Valern, his eyes being the most cruel and analytical of all.

Udina stayed quiet for a moment, mulling over his words before he spoke them. “Can the council now send their fleet into the traverse?”

Sparatus, with a face of indignation at the human’s request, spat back: “The traverse is not under the control of the council. If we send our fleet in, we risk war with the Terminus systems. I am sorry, but the council cannot help you in this matter.”

“Saren and the geth are out there attacking human colonies, and all you can say is I’m sorry?” Udina shouted back as he pointed an accusing finger at the councilors.

“Unfortunately, there is nothing more we can-“ Tevos tried to say, but was cut off by Sparatus.

“You were warned about the dangers of the Traverse. Did you listen? No! You were warned that the Citadel Council would not help you. Did you listen? No! So do not walk in here with outrageous demands and act like we,” Sparatus roared as he spread his arms, “are at fault here!”

Udina was not happy with the council. At every turn, they found a way to stab humanity in the back. They only sought to move when it benefited them, even though their obligation was to the entire galactic community. “I am tired of this council and its antihuman bullshit! If it were Turian or Asari colonists, you know damn well you would have sent your ships in from day one,” replied Udina.

“Please! There must be a way we can resolve this” interrupted Tevos, trying to keep the peace. She’d gotten used to Sparatus’ hotheadedness and knew when to let him have his moment; but that moment was past, and nothing would arise from further shouting. “There is a way that the Council can keep its fleet out of the Traverse but prevent Saren from attacking more human colonies” Tevos stated cryptically.

Sparatus looked at the Asari, confused as to what she meant. But as the seconds of silence dragged on, he put two and two together. “No! No. Humanity is not ready to assume such a responsibility. They are not ready for the Spectres.”

Valern, the swing vote, prepared to speak. He always hated it when the other races started to frivolously argue with one another. So barbaric and wasteful; he wished everyone would just act like the Salarians, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. “I back councilor Tevos’ idea. It is the best move. We stay out of conflict. Humanity gets its Spectre. Saren gets brought to justice. And if anything should arise, we will simply disown him like we did Saren. The benefits outweigh the harms, councilor Sparatus, I’m afraid.” Calm, collected, analytical; just as he had intended. He could only hope his speech worked.

Sparatus looked over at Valern with piercing eyes. They would have a conversation later. But later was the key word. There was no denying the…benefits... to the situation, no matter how much he hated it. “Ambassador, do you agree to this proposition,” he begrudgingly offered.

Udina looked back at Anderson, who nodded his head. He didn’t have to listen to the Captain, nor did he like him. But in this matter, their interests were aligned, and it was better to have reassurance. “Humanity would be honored to finally have a Spectre.”

“A human in our Spectres, yes. The Spectres serve the council and are responsible for the protection and safety of the entire galaxy. It is a large responsibility to assume,” the salarian corrected. He read between the lines of Udina’s statement. A Spectre is, and would always remain, an asset of the council in times of need, no matter their military allegiance.

A small smile formed on Udina’s face. He didn’t like Shepard; he was uneducated, stupid, rash, brutish. But he was a weapon, one that humanity needed badly. Someone who could get the dirty work done without having to worry about rules and regulations. But above all, he was pretty sure he knew were Shepard’s loyalties lay. The commander hated everything and everyone. But Udina was willing to bet…no, had betted, that Shepard would choose humanity over aliens given his past.

“Speaking of which, where is the commander? I would have assumed he would have accompanied the presentation of the evidence?” Tevos asked.

“The commander is recovering from some recent injuries. It is with his deepest regret that he is not here,” Anderson replied. In reality, he had no idea where Shepard was, and neither did anyone else. Anderson was scared that Shepard would mess something up, wherever he was, and ruin what he had just accomplished.

[]

His vision was blurry and dark. His breath reeked of alcohol. He could barely stay conscious. However, it was only in moments like these when he felt most comfortable. He couldn’t remember the past or predict about the future. His mind only existed, and ignorance was bliss. Bliss from a downed bottle of whiskey as he lay slouched in the back of an empty bar in the wards. It was only in moments like these when Shepard didn’t have a burning rage in his eyes, or feel the pain of every creaking joint, and when the almost permanent scowl on his face was gone. It had been a while since Shepard had been this incapacitated, and he relished every moment of it. He closed his already heavy eyes, embracing the darkness and the warm feeling of burning alcohol in his stomach. From his youth, he knew this was something you didn’t do, lest you get robbed blind. But whatever he had held of value had been taken from him long ago.

He woke up, after God knows how many hours passed out drunk, at the distinctly unpleasant feeling of someone shaking him. He didn’t know how long it had been, but his head ached incessantly. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting in an attempt to make out the face in front of him. All he could tell was that the person was black, which didn’t really help him decipher if this person was friend or foe. And although he knew the person was talking, he found it difficult to understand what they were saying, almost as if he were in an echo chamber.

Shepard’s hand lashed out and grabbed the man’s arm in an iron grip. “What the fuck do you want?” Shepard spit out, slurring through clenched teeth.

With each passing moment, life continued to reanimate Shepard’s body. Eventually, his vision cleared, and he made out a face: Anderson. His hearing returned too, and he could hear words again: “Shepard! Wake the fuck up, soldier!”

“Anderson,” Shepard sighed, “what do you want?”

Shepard’s question was met with a whack on the face and a tug on his arm that made him feel like the joint was about to pop out of its socket. Shepard got up, reluctantly, and stared at Anderson with bloodshot, sickly yellow eyes.

“You need to come with us. Important developments have been made regarding you,” Anderson stated cryptically.

Shepard smashed his fist into the table, before replying: “I’mmm finished, Andersssonnnn.”

Anderson was taken aback. Finished with what exactly, he wondered. Deep down, he knew the answer. But he refused to believe it. Too much was at stake. “Shepard. We’ll talk about this somewhere else.”

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing exactly?” shouted the bartender, intent on preventing any fights in his establishment. He took out his pistol from under the counter and waved it in the air. “Take your shit somewhere else.”

A loud click from an extending rifle followed. “C-sec business. Let’s not do that,” ordered Garrus as he aimed his rifle at the direction of the bartender. Garrus was here for two reasons. First and foremost, it was more fun that doing paperwork behind his desk. But secondly, you wouldn’t exactly say “no” in his situation. Shepard was a council asset now, whether he liked it or not; and as a member of c-sec, Garrus was obligated to “help out”; or rather, clean up their mess, as he liked to call it. All he had to do was send a photo of Shepard’s face to the guys down at the IT department, and their algorithms, which were connected to almost every video feed and camera on the citadel, would pinpoint his location through facial recognition. Ordinarily, he didn’t think he would be allowed to do this; but Shepard had yet to be officially inducted, as he had never said “yes.” After a second’s contemplation, the bartender stowed the gun away and pretended like nothing had ever happened.

[]

Udina’s office was empty. _Perfect_. Anderson opened the door and walked inside, flicking the lights as he did so. Behind him, Shepard stumbled in, squinting his eyes at the light that reflected off of the bright-white surfaces. Anderson took a seat in one of the chairs, swiveling it around to face Shepard.

“Shepard.”

“Anderson.”

“Take a seat.”

Shepard reached out with his biotics, dragging a chair from across the room before taking a seat in it.

“Shepard, what the hell has gotten into you?” Anderson demanded. He’d yet to break the good news to Shepard, but he was now afraid of doing so.

Shepard turned on his omnitool, flicking his finger threw files as Anderson waited patiently. Eventually, Shepard found what he was looking for: resignation forms; he clicked on the file and sent it to Anderson’s omnitool. “Here,” he stated.

Anderson opened the file, and as he read it, his eyes widened in fear and confusion. “What do you think you are doing exactly?” Anderson asked, shocked at what he was seeing.

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time now. I don’t think I will be with the next deployment of the Normandy, Captain,” Shepard responded quietly.

The gears in Anderson’s mind turned; he was still stunned at the news. But more importantly, stunned at the opportunity the alliance was about to lose. “Shepard…why? What on Earth compelled you to do this?”

Shepard chuckled, aggravating his still-healing injury. “I’m a failure, Anderson. Ever since I was born. I couldn’t bring my parents’ murders to justice. I couldn’t find my missing friends from Akuze. And all I have to show for my efforts are atrocities. I’ve gained nothing, and I’m tired of killing at the behest of someone else’s command for 30,000 credits a year.”

Anderson was silent for a moment. Had he made a mistake in choosing Shepard for the Spectres? “And what do you plan to do after you leave, exactly?” asked Anderson.

Shepard’s eyes dropped to the floor, a habit Anderson knew well. _Nothing admirable, it would seem._ “You’re leaving the Alliance to become a fucking mercenary!” Anderson realized out loud.

Shepard shrugged. “So? I’ll be doing the same work for better pay. On my own time and for my own reasons,” replied Shepard. He stood up and began to turn around. This conversation was over.

“SIT DOWN, SOLDIER,” Anderson ordered.

Nothing.

“Sit. Down” repeated Anderson through gritted teeth. He wasn’t going to trash the alliance’s biggest accomplishment and best hope of catching Saren on a soldier’s early midlife crisis.

Shepard continued to walk away, and Anderson got mad. No one turns their back on their Captain. But more importantly, no one should turn their back on a person who had fought so hard for another’s benefit. While old, Anderson was still a soldier. He leaped forward, landing a solid punch in between Shepard’s shoulder blades. Shepard, still finding it difficult to keep his balance (let alone walk) while drunk, stumbled forward and fell to the ground. He turned around and lifted Anderson into the air with his biotics. The man fumbled around in the air, uselessly trying to gain a footing. Shepard tossed Anderson into the wall.

“I am not cattle. I am not a machine. I’m more than that. You think because you are called captain,” Shepard mocked with air quotes, “you have power over others? The only thing I’ve learned over the years on the battlefield: you only have power when people fear you.” Shepard used his biotics again to lift Anderson into the air and pin him against the wall. “Does it look like I fear you,” Shepard scoffed.

“So, what are you going to do now? Kill me, like everybody else.”

“Nobody has seemed to care before. Don’t tempt me,” Shepard stated as he dropped Anderson to the floor.

“You think you’re the only orphan from Mindoir? You don’t get a license to throw everything away just because your mommy and your daddy got shot,” Anderson spit out. “There were kids who died, people who died, soldiers who died! And this is how you honor their memory, by joining the enemy?”

“I’ve killed just as many people as any mercenary, and I’m not alone. Why do you care so badly if I quit?” Shepard demanded.

“You think you’re the only person to have done things they regret? To make mistakes?” Anderson replied. “Shepard, while you were out drunk, history was being made. The council named a new Spectre today: you.”

Initially, Shepard was shocked. He didn’t understand, at all. Nihlus had died; he had failed to secure the objective; Jenkins died; the colony was destroyed. But these thoughts faded away as another thought invaded his head. “So that’s all I am to you, isn’t it? Your attack dog, the person you send in to do the dirty work when you don’t want to get your hands dirty!” Shepard roared. “All the alliance has ever done is have me point my gun at the wrong people, or they hide who is responsible from me. I’m tired of being your personal assassin.”

“You’re a Spectre now! You can do whatever you want! So, start by pointing your gun at the right people. Don’t throw this opportunity away just because the world has treated you like shit. Something has gone your way for once, don’t make a mistake in your drunkenness that you will regret!”

[]

It had been a couple of minutes since their fight. They stood near the window, appreciating the view of the lake and the trees and the towering buildings. Neither of them had spoken a word; they would rather pretend that what had transpired had never occurred at all.

Anderson broke the silence. “You know, you weren’t the first human offered a chance at the Spectres.”

Shepard remained quiet, staring out into the distance. Anderson assumed that was permission to continue.

“This was a long time ago, at least for me. I’d been sent on a mission with a Spectre. Our mission was to find a scientist who had been illegally researching artificial intelligence. Thousands of civilians died when the spectre blew up an element zero refinery, and our target got away. When we returned to the council, he pinned it all on me. Got my candidacy rejected.” Anderson excluded the Spectre’s name; no need to goad Shepard to chase after Saren.

Shepard nodded quietly, feeling rather sympathetic for once. “This spectre, is he still enlisted?” Shepard asked.

“No, no. He was recently fired” Anderson chuckled as he patted Shepard lightly on the shoulder.

“Saren?”

“Yes.”

Shepard’s face twisted into a scowl, and he clenched his fist in anger. It hadn’t only been Anderson who had convinced him. To call the shots, to do whatever he had to do to get the job done, that was an offer to good to pass up. With a Spectre’s resources, who knows what he could do? Despite it being lucrative, he would have access to unprecedented information networks. He would have the ability to find every person who had wronged him and bring them to “justice,” or rather, execute them; it really depended on his mood. He would make more credits than any mercenary, be more powerful than any criminal, and all with the weight of the law on his side because he now was the law. And all he had to do was eliminate one target: an alien who had attacked a colony world. The similarities were too big for Shepard not to notice.


	21. Perspective

He hated that turian. Executor Pallin and his blasted rules! Garrus had played by the rules for so long. At one point, he believed in them, believed that if you played by the right rules, that eventually you would win. One would think good would always prevail against evil as if provided by its divine and pristine nature. But a vat of clean water need only be poisoned by a drop to render it undrinkable. And time after time, failure after failure, criminals got away, and the innocent suffered. Eventually, he realized that he was wrong, and that all the people who deserved to live were dead, or would be soon enough, all because he had to play by the rules.

Now, there was a reason his file at c-sec was so lengthy. He broke the rules from time to time. He did some good work, saved lives, cleaned up some places… only to be criticized instead of commended, punished instead of rewarded. But what hurt the most was that when it counted, when he needed to break the most important rules, he couldn’t: either of his own inability or by being stopped by others. It was the source of his unencumbered frustration.

But now, he had been given an offer, one that he wasn’t sure he could refuse: to break all the rules in the name of justice, peace, and security. He could do what needed to be done, unrestrained by bureaucracy, and actually do something. So, he told the executor to go fuck himself. He was quitting.

* * *

His scales were itching for a fight. He didn’t care for the politics, or who he was fighting. Running around the galaxy with a spectre, killing geth and fleshy things, as they hunted down the legendary Saren Arterius was a great honor. And he might even find some valuables along the way. Business had been slow on the citadel anyway.

* * *

She was scared. For starters, a lot of the geth data that she collected from the geth memory core had been corrupted, making the value of it as a gift moot. Moreover, all the geth data she had collected had been confiscated by c-sec anyway, so now she was back at square one. She had nothing, and she had lost her friends, all her credits, and her weapon. To top it all off, she was a quarian on the citadel, of all places. She would basically be condemned to trying to work her way of this station, which was daunting given the horror stories of other pilgrims she had heard about. Or, she could take the other offer she had on the table. For any quarian, it was a great honor to serve on a ship. Plus, she’d have a paid job and have the chance to maybe find a pilgrimage gift, given that they would be running to all the far and strange corners of the galaxy. It surely beat staying on the citadel.

However, she had to remember what she would be doing. She was basically signing up to be a soldier, a combat engineer. She was confident in her technical abilities; but to shoot a gun, to kill a person, she had only been given minimal training on the former and she wasn’t sure she could stomach the latter. The danger she had experienced over the last couple of days would become her reality every, single, day; serving under a soulless and aggravated human commander whose temper and disregard for his own life often put him, and those around him, in dangerous situations. She simply didn’t think she had what it took, in mental fortitude, will, or ability to do this.

But was it right to throw all this away because she was afraid? Things larger than her were at work, from rouge Spectres to the mysterious “reapers.” Was it right for her to turn her back on the galaxy in its time of need? What would her mother think? That she was a coward who ran from her problems and refused to help others. It was against the values she had been instilled with in her youth.

* * *

She would miss Eden Prime. It was a quiet and peaceful colony; the people were nice, the climate even nicer. It was basically like being on vacation. Maybe that’s why they all got slaughtered, they forgot that they were soldiers who were supposed to stare death in the face. And now, so many people that she cared about were dead…

Serving under Shepard’s command would be no walk in the park. She knew that the chances of dying were exceedingly high and the chances of succeeding in the mission exceedingly low. But she couldn’t say no to this. She would serve on the Normandy and fight like hell until she found, captured, or more probably killed, those responsible for what happened on Eden Prime. She owed it to her friends and all those who died that day.

* * *

Anderson’s words were clear: keep an eye on Shepard. But to be honest, he didn’t even think he needed Anderson to tell him that. There was no telling the things Shepard could do if he went completely off the rails, to himself or to others. He didn’t think Shepard was evil at heart, that would imply he even existed on such a spectrum or had a heart. Shepard simply wasn’t human, and in this regard, he couldn’t really blame him. His entire family was slaughtered; grew up as an orphan in criminal gangs; joined the military only to watch everyone die around him. Kaiden was surprised that Shepard had even gotten as far as he did; the man should have died long ago, either from his surroundings or of his own accord and actions. But he hadn’t, and so Kaiden was now permanently under his command for the foreseeable future: he hated it. Shepard’s actions, unlike his past, were not excusable. Did he think he was the only one who had it tough, who suffered or watched people die?

Kaiden took solace in the fact that eventually, everyone would have to face their demons, lest they get eaten alive by them. He’d faced his and regretted what he had done everyday since. But even then, all that mattered is that he didn’t take his anger or pain out on the world, they were his problems, not other peoples’.

* * *

Shepard starred into the mirror, looking into his bloodshot eyes. He hated his life. He didn’t know why he existed or what he was supposed to do. Everything that had ever happened to him had been at somebody else’s whims and not his own, or so he told himself. His next meaningless objective, to hunt down a rouge spectre. He didn’t even care at this point. He walked back to the cabin, formerly Anderson’s but now his, and opened the computer on the desk. Now, for the only thing that he thought gave him purpose. With his new status, he opened the restricted council database, looking into information on one specific event: the raid of Mindoir.


	22. Interim

Shepard closed the console on his desk. He’d been reading up on all the citadel’s dirty little secrets for hours, partially to satisfy is nosiness, and partially to find the information he had been looking for. His eyes were red, and his temple pounded with pain every time his heart beat; the Normandy was a little more than a day out from Therum, were his next mission lay, and he had spent the better part of that journey locked up in his room. He reached for a bottle of pills, opened it, and swallowed two: oh, the wonders of caffeine. He figured his “wellness check” on the crew to see how they were fitting in was long overdue. He got up, leaning heavily on the desk in front of him as he did so.

He opened his closet and threw a new pair of clothes on the bed. It would hardly befit a commander to walk out in pajamas, which he suddenly found ironic given that he had done everything but sleep. He finished dressing, splashed some water from a bottle on his face, dried it with the old clothes, and prepared to leave. It was best to speak with the newest members of the crew first, he decided, so he made his way for the elevator and went down to the cargo bay; most of the aliens had taken their place down there anyway. When the doors opened, he took a step forward and scanned the bay. He spotted Wrex and walked towards the krogan.

“You know, when I agreed to join, I assumed there would be more violence,” he complained as he noticed Shepard approach.

“Keep your mouth shut, you’ll have your fill, Wrex. If I wanted to hear your complaints I would have asked,” Shepard spat back.

Wrex grumbled in annoyance. “You’d do well to learn from experience. I’ve survived for more than 700 years. Compared to me, your nothing more than a boy, Shepard.”

“Really?” Shepard asked, dragging out each syllable of the word to denote his sarcasm. “What would you know about being screwed over by the council races? And then having to do their dirty work?”

The krogan started to laugh, which sounded more like a low growl; Shepard only noticed it as laughter because of the amusement plastered on the Kogan’s face. “You know nothing, human. The day your species is driven to near extinction by the council’s scientist lapdogs, then you can start trying to compare us.”

Shepard stood there, scratching the back of his head in confusion, a sight that was not lost on Wrex.

“Oh, you don’t know? While your race barely started to fully explore your own planet, a galactic war raged throughout the galaxy. My people, being superior combatants, won,” Wrex stated with pride.

“But then how were you driven to extinction?” Shepard countered.

“The council cheated. Used bioweapons on us that rendered us almost unable to reproduce. And without the ability to replenish our numbers, we were forced into submission” Wrex elaborated. “Given that you humans like to spend the first part of your life in school, I’m curious as to why you didn’t know. You’re stupider then I expected, and that’s coming from a krogan,” Wrex stated before laughing at his own joke.

Shepard was not amused, but he figured that there was nothing much he could do about it either. “It would seem that not all of my race is as fortunate as you presume. Sometimes, we have to fight for survival too, just like you krogan.”

Wrex swatted Shepard’s rebuttal away; “bah, you aliens, always trying to compare your misfortunes to ours. You know nothing about being the last of your race, and watching your people die around you as they fight each other for credits.”

“Right. Briefing in the comm room at 1600. I expect you to be there,” Shepard stated as he slowly backed away, trying to end the tense conversation as quickly as possible. _Damn does he have a victim complex,_ Shepard thought. The world never asked you for your pity, it just asks you to pick up the shattered pieces afterward. Some pick up the shards and put them back together. But other people, they pick up the shards and start stabbing other people with them.

“You know, Saren will be ruthless. Whatever you think you saw in your puny wars is going to be nothing compared to him.”

“What would you know about it? I’ve been a commander for a while, and now I’m a spectre. I think I can handle myself,” Shepard flaunted.

“In my book, experience outranks all, human. Unlike you, I’ve actually seen what he can do first hand.”

“And you didn’t think that would have been relevant information?” Shepard asked, a little shocked. 

“Didn’t think it would be important until now. I thought you knew everything, especially with your new spectre status,” Wrex replied, a grin on his face. He enjoyed toying with the commander; krogan, after all, were not regarded as smart, so it was always a pleasure to put others in their place.

Shepard narrowed his eyes, clearly not amused. “Well?”

“I was hired to do a job. A friend said it paid well, so I said why the heck not. Our goal was to hijack a cargo freighter; that was the easy part. Then, I saw him: Saren.”

“What the hell is a spectre doing hiring mercenaries to attack a freighter?”

“That’s exactly what I thought. I had a bad feeling, so I got the hell out of there, didn’t even wait to get paid. A week later, I find out every single merc on that job turned up dead.”

Shepard stood there in silence, unsure of what to make of it. “Are you sure you can’t remember anything else? Not even what was on the freighter that he wanted?”

Wrex just shook his head in silence, and Shepard followed it with a sigh of despair. Still at square one, without a single clue to help track Saren down. Shepard thanked Wrex for the information and walked away. Unable to find Garrus, who he assumed was also in the cargo bay, he made his way towards Chief William’s, who stood in front of the weapon’s bench. As he got closer, he realized that her assault rifle was disassembled and that she was trying to modify it. “You’re going to melt the barrel doing that,” Shepard advised as he looked at the sniper’s configuration.

“Commander!” she shouted in surprise as she came to attention.

“At ease, Williams,” Shepard replied coldly, not really in the mood for formalities.

“Yes, sir. And the barrel has also been modified to withstand the heat. It’s for punching through the armor of heavier targets,” she explained.

_Still trying to make amends, isn’t she,_ Shepard realized. “Weapons are only half the battle, chief,” Shepard replied cryptically. It was no surprise to Shepard that she would be trying to mod her weapon to counter the things she had seen on Eden Prime. Shepard had given up with trying that long ago, for the most part. To him, it was best to find the most versatile configuration and stick with it; changing it after every battle meant you had to adapt to a new style of combat every time with a different weapon. He preferred to master what he had already known.

“Uh… yes sir?” Ashley responded, confused at the commander’s comment.

“Do you know where the turian is?” Shepard asked, quickly changing the subject.

“He’s working on the Mako, sir.”

“Under whose authority?” he demanded.

“I thought it was yours.”

“Whatever, it’s fine” Shepard replied dismissively.

Shepard turned towards the Mako and started walking towards it. Behind him, Williams just starred at the back of his head, one thought on her mind: _What on asshole._ Shepard got to the Mako, only to find no one there. That is, until he looked down at the floor to see two legs sticking out from under the Mako. “Who assigned you as a mechanic?”

It took Garrus a couple of seconds to fasten the bolt he was working on before he rolled out from under the Mako. Shepard extended his hand out, grabbing Garrus’ odd 3-fingered hand, and heaved him off the floor. “Thanks,” Garrus stated simply.

“What are you doing to the Mako?” Shepard demanded with an accusatory tone.

“Just changing out the transmission’s oil. Trust me, it needed changing. You should have an easier time accelerating now. I thought I’d make myself useful while I was done here, rather than just sitting around and doing nothing.”

“Hmmm, good work. But next time, clear it with me first. We might need the Mako on a moment’s notice, and I can’t have it out of commission when we need it” Shepard explained.

Garrus flared his mandibles slightly, an action which Shepard wasn’t sure how to interpret, before he responded: “Got it. I don’t think I’ll be making any more repairs today, then. I’ll resort to cleaning my rifle for now” Garrus stated, pointing one of his talons to the workbench in the corner. It was covered with every sort of tool, but leaning on its side was Garrus’ sniper rifle. Shepard wanted to check it out but decided on doing that later: he had his rounds to finish.

“Meeting in the comm room at 1600, officer.”

“I’ll find my way” Garrus replied.

Shepard left the scene of the Mako to head towards engineering. He walked through the bulkhead, looking for the quarian, who was nowhere to be found. _Great._ Shepard sighed loudly: “Adams, how’s it going in engineering?”

“Commander! Everything is running at optimal efficiency. She’s a hell of a ship if I do say so myself.”

Shepard only partially acknowledged Adams’ response; his attention was focusing on the massive ball of eezo and metal in the center of the room.

“Ah, the core. Happens to everyone on their first time, although commanding officers usually don’t come down here.”

“Anderson told me it’s what makes the Normandy special, but I never understood why.”

“Well, I’ll give you a quick rundown in laymen’s terms then. The size of the core is far larger than it should be for frigates this size; as the mass of the ship decreases, and conversely the size of the core increases, the ship will move faster. And the reason we can stay so stealthy is because of the heatsinks that hold the heat until it can be dumped,” Adams explained.

Shepard didn’t really understand any of the reasoning that Adams provided, and he figured he never really would unless he took a physics class. _Fat chance,_ he reminded himself; he was a soldier, his sole of objective to kill others or defend a target. He’d have to let the smart people handle running the ship, he glumly realized. _Back on task;_ “Adams, where’s the quarian? I thought she would be down here.”

“Who, Tali? Cleaning some of the vents. You’d be surprised you can get her out of this room. She’s been all over the engines; I’ll tell you, she asks a lot of questions.”

Shepard crossed his arms, clearly not amused. “Sorry about that, I’ll tell her to find somewhere else to work.”

“Commander, are you kidding? Give her another week and she’ll probably know the engines better than me and the rest of the engineers. She’s been a great asset, you don’t need to worry,” Adams tried to explain.

“Huh, fine. But if there are any issues, let me know immediately. I will not be having this ship crashing because of an overzealous girl in a suit.”

“What issues?” spoke a modulated voice from behind Shepard. In reality, she had heard Shepard’s entire rant. It hurt having him doubt her skills with the ship; she was a quarian after all. But could she really expect any better? She knew exactly what she had signed up for and who she would be working with.

“Nothing. Adams’ here was just telling me how great of a job you’ve been doing. Glad to have you on the crew,” Shepard offered with a fake smile on his face. And for the three seconds he had to hold that smile, it was the most torturous of his life, mainly because he never smiled except when drunk as hell.

“Thank you, I am glad to be here too,” Tali replied with false optimism. People had been doubting her ever since she left the fleet. If even one of them listened, then maybe all her friends wouldn’t have died. She wanted to give Shepard credit for helping her in the alley, but she realized it was never because he believed her; he helped her because he knew for a fact that she had something he needed.

“Just came to make sure your settling into engineering alright.”

“Yes, sir. Everything is running great down here.”

“Glad to hear. Just came to let you know about the meeting in the comm room at 1600. Don’t be late.”

“I will be there, sir,” she replied meekly. “Is it about the mission?”

“Yep. We are going to be arriving on Therum soon. Not really sure what to expect, though” he explained. “I just hope there won’t be any geth in my way.”

“They’re not that bad if you know what you're doing. As synthetic beings, they are susceptible to a variety of cyber-attacks.”

“You’re responsible for their creation. The least you could do is show us how to fight them.”

Tali didn’t know how to respond. Defend her people and anger the commander or say nothing and follow along. She looked at down at her toes, unable to face the commander. “They were created hundreds of years ago as servants, before my time. The geth were never supposed to gain sentience.”

Shepard crossed his arms and snorted. “But they did. And now they work for Saren. If the quarians hadn’t created the geth, we wouldn’t be in this predicament, and millions of people wouldn’t have died.”

Tali’s shoulders slumped, and she maintained her gaze on the floor. “Believe me, no one’s suffered more because of the geth than my people. They killed billions and took our homeworld. Now, we live on a fleet of decaying ships, one hull breach away from extinction. I… we, never wanted any of this.”

“Serves you right,” Shepard sneered. “Besides, why don’t you guys just find a new planet instead of whining and complaining about it.”

“Well,” she began to defensively explain, “the council won’t let us. Every time we find one, they pronounce it better suited for a different dextro race.”

“Sounds exactly like them,” Shepard agreed. “So, what’s it like living on a fleet of ships?”

“Not fun. If you ever make a mistake, you don’t only but your life at risk, but the lives of the entire crew. It’s a lot of pressure, especially when your family is on board too,” explained Tali.

“Ah, family. Always causing trouble” Shepard replied sarcastically.

Tali turned her head to the side, confused at his comment. “Bad experience?” she asked.

“You could say that,” Shepard replied. However, this was not a conversation he wanted to engage in. Shepard excused himself quickly and left engineering. He decided it was time he caught up on reading Saren’s mission reports and see what he was truly up against.


	23. Therum

Shepard felt exposed without the Mako, but the cliffs were simply too rocky and steep to bother bringing it. Joker would have to come and pick it up later, and the pilot would probably make a few jests at him; but then again, he wasn’t the cripple in the chair, so he really didn’t care for what that big mouth had to say. The only issue with leaving the Mako behind was that they would be without heavy firepower, and if they ran across another geth armiger, they would be screwed. He’d have to remember to make Wrex carry a rocket launcher on his back next time. If they had to face one now, their only recourse would be sniper rifles, grenades, and the quarian’s tech attacks. He’d yet to see her in action; he knew her combat skills would be pitiful, but he brought her along for her tech skills. He hated that he would have to keep an eye on her.

They marched along the path, with Shepard leading the way. His shotgun was raised and ready to fire at anything that reared its head. Eventually, the path opened out into a large gorge, with valley walls towering on either side of them. It felt almost like a trap. “Keep an eye on the cliffs; I feel like they’re here.”

“Copy,” Garrus replied. Wrex simply grunted. Tali nodded her head. Shepard started walking forward in a low crouch, hugging one of the walls of the valley.

“Commander, I’m picking up several energy signatures. I think you were right about the geth,” informed Tali. She found it difficult to speak. Sure, she’d been trained, but never for this! She was sweating profusely, and they hadn’t even been through strenuous combat yet; for most of the mission, she’d just been sitting in the Mako, managing the shields. She shook her head: these were geth! A quarian should relish the chance to kill as many as possible. She strengthened both her resolve and the grip on her pistol.

Shepard stopped behind a massive rock. Ahead of them, the gorge condensed back into a narrow alley. It was a trap that he did not want to walk into; let them come to his team. “Wait here,” he told the rest of his team. Shepard ignited a biotic barrier around him and walked further into the valley. His anticipation grew with each step that he took forward, waiting for the enemy. Eventually, he stopped and started to scan the cliffs again. A shot rang out from behind him, and the next thing he saw was a geth body tumbling down the slope. Shepard rolled behind a rock and prepared himself. “Garrus, you have to cover our sides, we’re going to be vulnerable.”

In response, the turian’s rifle fired again, sending another geth tumbling down. Geth troopers exited out of the opening in front of him, including two juggernauts. _Great,_ he thought. He tossed a grenade over the rocks, into the mouth of the cliff. Five seconds later, an Earth-shattering explosion sounded, and the rumble of tumbling rocks could be heard. He hopped over his rock and charged forward. The geth, still reeling from the blast and the dust that clouded their optics, didn’t see Shepard or his shotgun until it was too late. Wrex wasn’t far behind either and helped Shepard mop up the mess. “Garrus, any other enemy snipers?”

“None that aren’t already taken care of,” replied Garrus with a hint of pride. He’d been a little afraid that his years in c-sec would have eroded his combat skills, but they seemed just fine.

“Then let’s keep moving,” Shepard commanded.

He walked forward towards the entrance of the cliff. One of the juggernauts had been buried under the rocks, and only its head stuck out from the pile of debris. The light in its head was still active, and it made clicking and whirring sounds as Shepard approached. One final blast echoed throughout the valley as Shepard blew its head off. He stowed his shotgun and prepared to climb the rocks in front of him.

Once he and the rest of his team were over, he continued through the crevasse and exited on the other side. He didn’t see any more geth, but he wasn’t willing to place any bets on it. He saw the mining facility, where the doctor was supposed to be located, at the top of a hill. He equipped his sniper rifle and looked through the scope: nothing. “Let’s go! I don’t want to be down here if they have the high ground.”

When they reached the top, Shepard sighed with relief: still nothing. The mining facility was half a click from their position on their left. If they moved quickly, they could get there before reinforcements arrived. And he had to jinx it too. A geth dropship came from the northeast, its engines humming loudly. It hovered near the road in front of the mine’s entrance, doing nothing for a couple of seconds. But Shepard wasn’t waiting. “Get behind cover. Now!”

Shepard and Tali leapt behind one boulder on the left, while Garrus and Wrex took cover behind a large piece of mining equipment. Shepard peered around the side of the rock in time to see the ship drop a geth armiger out of the sky alongside several geth platforms. “Fuck,” Shepard sighed as he banged his head against the boulder. “Listen, we have one geth armiger and multiple geth units. Save your grenades for that tank. Garrus, me and you are on snipers.”

“I really can’t do anything until they get into medium range,” screamed Wrex, trying to be heard over the roar of the ship’s engines as it sped away.

“Then watch our back,” Shepard replied. He then turned to Tali; “Can you hack that things shields? It’s our only chance at taking it down.”

“I can try, but I need time.”

“Do try, our lives depend on it,” he responded as he pulled the trigger on his rifle.

Tali opened her omnitool, an old, refurbished BlueWire and began her attempts. The sounds of battle all around her clouded her focus, but she had an incredible incentive to concentrate and redouble her efforts: the fear of death. Wrex sat next to Garrus, frustrated at his inability to do anything. It would be pointless to expose himself and spray shots, the risk was to great, especially with that tank.

Garrus and Shepard were engrossed in their scopes, trying to prevent the geth from reaching them. Unbeknownst to the team, geth attached to the scaffolding had been crawling towards them. One leapt down and tackled Tali. She screamed as she tried to reach for her sidearm, but her arms were pinned. Shepard, having heard the screams, pointed his weapon at the odd geth, took a second to make sure his line of fire wouldn’t hit her, and fired. But he had no time to check on her as he was tackled by another one. Shepard and the geth rolled on the ground and it ended up on top. Shepard punched its optic with his gauntleted hand, and it winked out, but the geth was still active and still very much knew were its target was. Shepard tried to get out from under it, but it was simply no use, the machine was too strong, even for him. Suddenly, five pops went off, and the machine collapsed on top of him. He rolled it off of him and got back up. Another one lunged at him, but he was prepared this time; he sent it flying backward with a biotic push, quickly unholstered the pistol at his hip, and fired several times at it.

“Shepard, I think that’s the last of the geth,” Garrus spoke over the comm.

“We still have that armiger though,” Shepard complained. As they spoke, it marched forward step by step, pelting their position with machine gunfire.

“Tali, tell me you have something.”

Tali continued to work, not even bothering to acknowledge Shepard’s request. The tank fired a charge at the boulder they were hiding behind, sending debris into the air. Shepard created a biotic shield around them, protecting them from the rubble. When the dust cleared, he picked up his sniper rifle. “Garrus, if Tali can drop the shields, go for its optics.”

Another charge hit Garrus and Wrex’s position. “Tali!?” Shepard asked with increasing urgency.

“Got it, I got it. Ready on your order?” Tali replied.

“Garrus, ready?”

“Copy.”

“Now, Tali!” Tali clicked the button on her omnitool, and Shepard could hear the sound of shield emitters shorting out.

Shepard peaked around the corner of the rock and started firing at the armiger’s head. It started to focus its machine guns on Shepard’s position, forcing him to retreat back around the rock. Garrus, however, continued to aim for its head. On the last shot before his rifle overheated, the cannon and optics in its head shattered.

“You won’t have much time left, and it still has a sensor package in its lower neck,” Tali informed him.

“Of course it does,” Shepard replied sarcastically. “Can you overheat its machine guns?”

“Only for a brief time.”

“It’ll have to do.”

“Garrus concentrate fire at the base of its neck if you can” Shepard ordered. Yep, he would definitely have Wrex carry heavy weapons next time.

Shepard equipped his shotgun. He would only have a couple of seconds to do this. “Tali, ready when you are.”

Tali pressed a button on her omnitool, the hack having been waiting to be executed, and waved her omnitool in the direction of the armiger. “Go,” she told Shepard.

He charged the armiger, quickly closing the distance between it and him. He jumped onto one of its legs and began to climb up the geth, using its curved and pointy armor as climbing footholds. He hopped onto its neck, staring at two of the machine guns on either side of him before refocusing on his task. He grabbed onto the neck to swing himself around to the front, placed the muzzle of his shotgun into its lightly armored base, and fired several times. The front of the armiger started to smoke and spark from burning circuitry. Shepard swung back onto its back, but now it was trying to shake him off, and he lost his balance collapsing to his knees. He took two grenades and shoved one into each base of the armor that supported the guns. He rolled off its back, falling to the ground beneath the armiger. It raised a leg, trying to smash him to bits, but it was on the wrong side; the thing couldn’t see him: perfect. Shepard got up and sprinted away from the armiger as fast as possible. The grenades detonated, and the armiger exploded into a ball of fire. Shepard collapsed to his knees in the ash, taking a second to catch his breath.

* * *

“Any clue where this scientist is?” Wrex grumbled.

“I wish, but sadly no. These ruins are massive, so I think we are going to be searching for a while,” Garrus replied.

Shepard looked over the railing. _Damn, that’s a long way down!_ Each step who took caused the platform to groan, which wasn’t very reassuring either. The platform eventually opened up into a vast underground cavern. At one end of the wall, a massive structure was built into the rock. It appeared to have several floors, each with shields protecting their entrances. “Well, that looks promising,” Tali offered.

They descended down the ramp, and as they got closer, Shepard thought he saw a woman on the other side of the shield projector. “Guys, I think I have eyes on the target.”

“Everything looks clear, but I don’t like this. Something feels off” Wrex added.

“Comes with the territory,” Shepard replied.

As the group approached the structure, Liara called out for help. “Please, you need to turn this thing off!” she pleaded.

“Who are you?” Shepard demanded.

“Please, does it matter?” she replied.

“Actually, yes. So, you better give me the answer I’m looking for. What is your name?” he asked again, resting his shotgun over his shoulder for added emphasis.

“Liara, Liara T’Soni. Now please, get me down before they return!” she cried with dread in her eyes. The last thing she wanted to see was any more of those metal machines.

“How do we turn this thing off so we can get to you?” Garrus asked her.

“I was clumsy when exploring this place. I hit a control panel by accident and was trapped in this stasis field. I’m not sure how you’re going to get through.”

Shepard turned around, scanning the excavation sight. He saw plenty of scaffolding, research equipment, and tools. But his attention focused on a rather large piece of equipment that looked like a cannon. “How about that thing?” Shepard offered as he pointed at it.

“The mining laser? Are you crazy? That will bring down the entire site on top of us!” Liara warned.

“You think I care,” Shepard replied, chuckling as he spoke. “Garrus, take the quarian and get that thing operational. I’ll stay here with Wrex in case anything comes up,” order Shepard.

“I have a name, you know,” Tali spat, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

“Can we talk about this later? I have a mission to complete.”

Tali turned around without a word. She shouldn’t have expected to be treated any better by anyone accept another quarian; well, if she even found a pilgrimage gift that is.

* * *

“Ready when you are, Shepard” Garrus spoke into the comms.

“Ya, we’re out of the way. You’re a go on the laser drill,” Shepard replied with a sigh. The geth were still onto them, and he knew he didn’t have much time. The recon drones which lay in shattered and sparking wrecks on the floor of the cavern proved as much.

“Firing, in three, two, one” counted Tali as she hit the button on the drill. It had been a pain in the ass to get the thing working, excluding the trio of geth troopers that had tried to ambush them. The laser began to hum as it charged; when it fired, a lance of yellow energy impacted the rock wall, obliterating it. When the smoke cleared, a large opening in the rock face, which led to the trapped asari, was visible.

“Wrex and I are going to secure the target. Meet us up here,” spoke Shepard into the comms. He scrabbled up the rubble and into the room. The target was just ahead of him, thankfully still trapped in the stasis field. Lord knows she would have tried to kill him if she got out; she was the daughter of Lady Benezia after all. She could not be trusted. Shepard turned around and offered his hand to help Wrex up; the krogan, it would seem, did not like having to vertically climb, and that fact did not come as a surprise. After putting all his weight into it, the krogan finally reached the platform.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

Shepard didn’t even bother to respond to the pleasantries. He equipped his shotgun, pointing it at the asari. “Wrex, prepare to secure the target.” The grunt behind him was all the confirmation he needed that Wrex understood him.

The asari became frightened at Shepard’s words. “What do you mean? What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Don’t play dumb with us,” Shepard replied as he approached the control panel. “Once we are out of here, you WILL tell us everything about your mother.”

“Why, what’s happened to…” she tried to say, but was interrupted by her drop to the floor. A strong, meaty hand grabbed one of her arms and twisted it behind her back, causing her to yelp in pain.

“Get up,” the krogan told her, and feeling that she wasn’t in a position to argue, she complied quickly. 

“Your mother is responsible for an attack on the colony of Eden Prime and is working with a rogue spectre. You will tell me everything you know, and you will tell me how I can find her.”

“I haven’t spoken to her in years! I’ve been studying archeological sites for a long time know. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And I refuse to believe that my mother would commit the supposed crimes you have mentioned,” Liara argued.

Garrus and Tali finally reached the platform. It was time to go. “I can’t believe you started the interrogation without me, Shepard. I am qualified, after all,” the turian stated before laughing quietly at his own joke.

“We can do this later. For now, we need to get out of here,” Tali said as the room began to shake, and dust fell from the ceiling. She looked at the far end of the room; _an elevator,_ she realized. She jogged to the platform’s controls, scanning the alien markings. She couldn’t read them, but their meaning was clear: elevator go up or elevator go down. “I think this is an elevator. It’ll bring us closer to the surface, and hopefully away from this wreck,” she offered.

Shepard nodded his head and waved for the rest of the group to follow. Wrex shoved the asari forward as he maintained his vice-like grip on her arm. The room began to shake again, stronger this time. “Normandy, this is commander Shepard requesting immediate evac at our location. Copy?”

“Loud and clear. Although, I don’t know how you expect me to land in a pool of lava,” Joker responded.

The elevator began its upward ascent, slowly climbing the many floors of the vast structure.

“CAN YOU MAKE IT, Flight Lieutenant MOREAU?” Shepard roared into the comms.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there.” The comms in the Normandy clicked out, much to Joker’s relief. _Man, does he have a temper. When is he going to learn to lighten up?_

“Asshole,” Shepard whispered under his breath as the elevator neared the top floor. Unfortunately, when they did reach the top floor, Shepard saw a krogan with several geth in tow marching towards them.

“Hand over the girl,” the krogan demanded.

“Out of my way, or you’re going to die alongside the rest of your machine friends,” Wrex replied.

“I didn’t come to fight. I only need the girl,” the mercenary tried again.

Shepard looked back at his team, a simple nod telling them that they should get ready. “So be it,” Shepard replied. He ignited a biotic barrier around him, surrounding himself in bright blue light. He started to charge the krogan, each step propelled with biotic energy. In the blink of an eye, he had rammed the krogan, tossing him into the air with the strength of his charge. The geth closest to him raised its rifle to fire at him, but Shepard knocked it aside with his arm before firing twice into its abdomen with his shotgun. Noticing two more troopers that began to fire at his shields, he threw them into the wall with his biotics; Garrus made short work of them with his assault rifle. Tali, hiding behind the elevator’s controls, hacked one of the remaining two geth, and in a sad but comedic instance of friendly fire, they shot themselves to pieces.

The krogan that Shepard had tossed barely got to his feet in time to see that his geth troopers were dead. “Useless machines! I’ll kill you all,” he roared as he began to charge. Shepard tried to throw the krogan again with his biotics, but he was spent (both from the fatigue of hours of battle and his recent excursions) and the krogan was simply too heavy. What Shepard was hoping would knock the krogan off his feet again seemed only to slow him for a brief moment. Behind him, Wrex was also charging. Shepard suddenly realized that he was about to be in between a fight between two krogan in a blood rage. He rolled to the side just as the two krogan collided: two tons of flesh, bone, and armor. They brawled and ended up on the floor, and Wrex pried a plate of armor off of his opponent. Shepard wanted to intervene, but if he shot one, he shot both.

Wrex gained the upper hand again and plunged his fingers into one of his opponent’s eyes, gouging it out. The other krogan roared in pain, throwing Wrex off in a fit of anger. Seeing an opening, Shepard fired his shotgun as the krogan mercenary tried to get up. Blood dripped off of his armor, and massive gashes and holes detailed the damage he had taken, but he had yet to fall. It turned its attention on him, and Shepard could see the complete lack of control in the erratic movement of his last eye. However, before it could charge him, Wrex got back up and shoved his shotgun into the gap he had made in its armor. He fired, again and again. The mercenary collapsed to the ground, having been gutted completely, but he still moved. Wrex lowered his shotgun to the krogan’s head and fired again. The gurgling and screaming agony of the body ceased. Shepard was, at this moment, glad he brought along this absolute monster.

The room shook violently, and large chunks of the ceiling began to collapse. “Let’s get out of here, now!” Shepard screamed. They started sprinting for the exit shaft, running as fast as they could while carrying armor and weapons. Shepard reached the exit and stood to the side, waiving his team to hurry up. Rocks continued to pelt them, and dust filled the air, clouding their vision. There was little time left. Once everyone climbed the ramp out, Shepard followed suit, racing after them as the mine began to implode. But he could only run so fast, and the section of scaffolding he was on began to fall underneath him. He knew the drop below him was at least four stories; it was not an impact he would likely survive in heavy armor. He tried to cover the distance to the stable platform, but it was too late: the floor underneath him gave way, and he was in freefall. His arms flailed in the air, almost as if he was trying to fly, but to no avail. Halfway down, he began to slow and eventually stopped falling altogether. Under “calmer” circumstances, he would wonder what saved him; but his fight-or-flight instincts had already taken over, and he continued to claw the air in a feeble attempt to ascend. He thought it was working too as he began to rise through the air. As the seconds went by, the platform up above got closer and closer, and he could see his team looking over the side, watching him. He continued to levitate through the air until he was at the height of the platform. He looked unto the shocked faces of his teammates as he began to move forward through the air. But something else caught his attention: the asari, deep in concentration with her hands outstretched, using her biotics. She had been the one to lift him to safety. A second later, his feet touched the platform, and he heard the roar of the Normandy’s engines. He had escaped death again, it would seem.


	24. Mind Reader

Shepard sat in the center chair of the comm room. It had been an hour since the mission on Therum, and he felt exhausted. However, he had to get this finished. Williams and Alenko were the only crewmates with him in the room; Shepard had decided to let the others recover and rest. He had always hated working with a team; but there were some feats that soldiers such as himself could never accomplish alone, no matter how deadly they were. He had to say that, overall, he was rather happy with their performance. Wrex and Garrus were well-trained combatants who were dependable in battle; he still didn’t trust them, mainly because he usually never trusted anybody, but he wouldn’t mind having them watch his back in combat. And Tali, well, her engineering skills proved invaluable, both in the engine room and on the battlefield. However, she needed to learn how to fight; it would be something Shepard would have to remedy while she served on this ship. Sure, they all had their specialties, but everyone should at the minimum know how to fight. For now, he was not confident taking her into battle, but when concerning geth opponents, he thought he had little choice. She would either sink or swim. Alas, these were assessments he would have to take care of later.

Liara sat in the chair farthest away from the trio of soldiers. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and had been ever since she had boarded the ship. He was taking no risks with Benezia’s daughter, no matter how innocent she looked. She did save his life, but Shepard new how easily friend turned into foe. “Liara T’Soni,” Shepard began, “you have a lot of explaining to do, for you and your mother.”

“I still can’t believe the things you’re telling me,” she mumbled, “this doesn’t sound like my mother at all.” She hadn’t seen her mother in a long time, and it broke her heart to hear what she had been involved with. Part of her still didn’t believe it.

“Well I was there when Eden Prime was attacked, and so were they” Shepard replied, jabbing a thumb at Ashley and Kaiden. “You can tell that to the piles of corpses,” he added, causing Ashley to cringe as she remembered the bodies of her friends and civilians. Leave it to Shepard to put it bluntly, without regard for feeling or emotion.

“I’m sorry for your loss, truly” Liara replied, “but I don’t have the information you are looking for. Like I said, I haven’t spoken to her in years. I’ve spent my time exploring archeological sites and ruins.” It was the only answer Liara had because it was the truth.

“How do we know you're telling us the truth though? There’s no way we can be sure you aren’t working for your mother,” Ashley stated. She wanted to believe this woman, but Ashley could no longer take anything for face value or for granted, not after Eden Prime.

Liara sat there, feeling defeated. How the hell was she supposed to prove her innocence? How can one prove that they did not do something, it was impossible! Unless… “If I’m working with my mother, then why did she send a krogan bounty hunter and a geth army to capture me? If what you are saying is true, and I was working with my mother, wouldn’t I just go willingly? Why would I save you?” she added as she pointed to Shepard.

Shepard looked at Williams and Alenko for their opinion. They both nodded their heads, and he nodded his head in return. “Dr. T’Soni, we believe you are telling the truth,” Shepard stated. He reached into his pocket and produced the key to the cuffs, which he tossed at the asari.

Not exactly able to catch it with her hands tied, the key fell to the floor, and Liara struggled to pick up the keys. Eventually, she succeeded and unlocked her cuffs, which she deposited on the seat beside her. “Thank you, commander,” she said as she rubbed her wrists. She was sure she would have some bruises; she knew that turian put those cuffs on way too tight.

“Well, doctor, why did you think your mother sent the troops to capture you?” Shepard demanded. Just because she proved her supposed innocence, for now, did not mean he wouldn’t try to get as much information on her mother as possible.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure, but I’m assuming it would have something to do with my work,” she offered.

Alenko wasn’t satisfied with the answer, though. “Which entails what, exactly?”

“I’m an archeological scientist and researcher. Specifically, I study prothean technology and culture, and have been doing so for the past 50 years” she stated proudly.

_Wait a fucking second,_ Shepard thought, _she’s 50?!_ However, these were questions for another time. Something far more interesting grabbed his attention: she studied the protheans. Maybe she could answer his questions about the beacon on Eden Prime, his visions, and the mythical reapers.

Shepard started to formulate his multitude of questions but was beaten to the punch by Williams. “If you study the protheans, maybe you can help us with our own run-in with prothean technology.”

Liara’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of the possibility of getting her hands on a piece of prothean technology. It had been so long since she had found anything that worked. “Where? Do you have it with you on the ship?” she demanded. “I can get to work right away.”

Shepard cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. “Well, you see, we don’t have any,” he explained, causing Liara’s enthusiasm to vanish.

“What the commander is trying to say is that he blew up a prothean beacon back on Eden Prime,” Ashley stated bluntly, earning her daggers from the commander.

“That’s a great loss. It’s been ages since anyone has found a prothean beacon. Tell me, before it blew up, was it working?”

Shepard nodded his head somberly. It was working alright, at least he thought so. He still had the visions it imprinted in his mind. Not visions, more like nightmares. “Yes, it was working. It implanted visions in my mind, but I’m not sure of what exactly. They’re all… scrambled” he answered. “Given your background, I would think you’d make more sense out of them than me, but that hope is lost with the beacon,” he added with regret. _Ya, just leave it to a soldier like me to blow shit up._

“Well, not exactly, commander. There are other ways,” she stated vaguely.

“Spit it up,” Ashley demanded, not wanting to play games when it came to the beacon from Eden Prime.

“Asari can, uh, meld with a subject's mind, see their thoughts and memories. If you really believe I can be of use, I can try that on the commander’s mind and see the visions,” she explained.

“No. No!” Shepard yelled. The last thing he wanted was somebody poking around in his mind. His thoughts were his own. “That is not an option!” If anyone saw the things he had down, the whispers of it would be enough to string him up for execution. Sure, some of the brutal stuff was locked away in completely redacted, hard copy files that had “mysteriously” disappeared. But it was the stuff that never made it on file, even on paper, that he was afraid of people ever finding out. War did things to you, made you discover your demons. When you kill a person, you lose a part of yourself, a part that you can never get back. And he had done a lot of that. Killed a lot of people, both good and bad. 

“What can you be so scared about, commander?” Ashley mocked, “look at her. She couldn’t hurt you even if she wanted.”

Kaiden also tried to convince him. “Commander, while I know you have your reservations, it’s for the good of the galaxy. We need to find Saren. He’s going to keep attacking colonies unless we stop him.”

Leave it to Kaiden to unintentionally find his weak spot. “I…I can’t. I’m sorry,” he replied with disgrace. What good was he if he condemned others to the same fate he experienced as a child? It was a source of shame that he put his own wellbeing over that of those he was supposed to protect. Ironically enough, that’s really what he had been doing his entire life. Living for himself, and never for others. Well, he had nobody and no reason to live for anyway, except… revenge. Revenge for those who had taken everything from him.

Liara read between the lines. He was hiding something, and he was afraid of it being discovered No person, not even the asari, would do something like this so casually. But she wasn’t looking to find his deepest, darkest secrets. “Commander, you have nothing to worry about. I will only be looking at the visions of the beacon.”

Shepard sat there, contemplating for a moment. Well if worst came to worst, and she did see something that could ruin him, he could always kill her and say she was working with Saren. The council would never know the difference. But was that what he wanted to do? Was it even right to do? He was probably overthinking all of this, expecting worst-case scenarios. “Fine,” he spat, still not happy that he would have to be doing this.

He got up from his chair and stood in the center of the room, waiting for the inevitable. Liara stood up and approached him. She just stood there for a while, which confused Shepard. He felt like something was supposed to happen. But then, his vision disappeared, and he felt timeless. His sense of consciousness dissolved as he became streams of thoughts, emotions, and memories. He could see everything he had ever done in a moment's glance. He saw himself in the streets, in the army; he saw himself when he was killing people and at funerals for downed comrades. His mind focused on Eden Prime, the reapers, and the beacon. Distorted images rushed by, of carnage and of the sounds of war that he knew so well. A bellowing, metallic war cry could be heard over the chaos, the one that had been haunting his dreams of late. Beasts of metal and flesh rushed through battlefields and city streets alike. His vision zoomed out and the war on the planet below began to shrink. Eventually, he could see the entire planet; odd, it looked so peaceful from up here, almost beautiful. But the massive warship he saw on Eden Prime rushed up from the planet’s surface, coming straight for him. It wailed and screamed again as its finger-like structures reached out for him.

And then it was over, Shepard was back in his body. He fell onto one knee, taking deep shuddering breaths to calm himself. Liara collapsed to the floor, unable to stand at all. Alenko rushed to his side while Williams did the same for Liara. Shepard took a deep breath before speaking. “I’m, I’m alright,” he stated as he brushed Alenko’s hand away. Shepard stood up, having regained his composure, and took a second to contemplate what just happened.

“What the hell happened?” Williams asked.

Liara took a second to formulate her words. She wanted to throw up. “The… the visions from the beacon, they are so intense,” she gasped. The vision from the beacon was horrifying enough. She’d never been conditioned to see such moments of mass slaughter. Seeing the reapers in the vision, it confirmed her suspicions about the protheans.

Shepard crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, did anything make sense to you? Do you have anything that can help us find Saren or your mother?”

Liara shook her head, still in shock. Her mother was working for these things, which had wiped out an entire civilization? “Commander, I’m sorry to tell you that there is nothing that can find who you are looking for,” she began to explain, “but I believe I have news just as troubling.”

Williams helped Liara to a chair, where she took a seat. Still exhausted from being in the commander’s head, and seeing a little more than just the vision, she tried to collect her thoughts. “I told you that I was a prothean researcher. I spent the last several decades trying to figure out what made them fall, why they went extinct.”

Shepard’s head felt like a puddle of mush, but he didn’t have time to consider his discomfort. “Yes, you’ve already told us that.”

“Your vision, it adds to a theory that I’ve been working on for a long time. The protheans didn’t just vanish, they were wiped out. The data and evidence I found pointed me in that direction, but I never had concrete proof, until now. Commander, I believe that the so-called “reapers” in your visions and the one that attacked Eden Prime are one and the same,” she explained.

Shepard took a seat. This was a lot to take in. If Saren was working with beings capable of such destruction, he doubted he would ever be able to stop or capture him. “If Saren is working with the same things that wiped out the protheans, this… this is far worse than I expected.” _I need to talk to the council._ “I… I always thought it was just a bad dream, but… are you sure you’re right?” he asked for the sake of reassurance.

“Yes, commander. I saw the same things you saw,” Liara replied. Her head still hurt, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

Shepard, noticing her discomfort in addition to his own, decided to adjourn this meeting. “Williams, take her to doctor Chakwas. This meeting is at an end for now.”

* * *

Shepard was back in his quarters. He wasn’t sure where to go or what to do next. He decided to listen to the recording again. He pulled up his omnitool and pressed play. He’d only ever listened to it two or three times; maybe there was something, something that would explain all this.

“Eden Prime was a major victory! The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the conduit.”

“And one step closer to finding the Reapers.”

Reapers. Conduit. The beacon of prothean decent. Shepard began to put the pieces together. Saren, for whatever reason, was working for the reapers. Saren needs the reapers, and doing so involved the ‘conduit’ of which Shepard had no idea about. The beacon provided Saren with a clue. The very same beacon that Shepard had access to. So why couldn’t he figure it out? If he didn’t stop Saren, the rogue spectre would raze system after system, killing billions. Now, he had a new job. Stop Saren, and by extension, the reapers.

Shepard slammed his fist down onto the desk in anger. Why did he have to do anything for anyone, or in this case, the galaxy? What made him the person who should suffer and die for the decadence of others? The military and alliance called him a hero because he “risked his life for a cause,” or so they liked to say. But Shepard didn’t want to be the hero. In fact, he hated it. He was no hero. He did things because he was ordered to or out of fits of anger. He probably had committed enough evils to outweigh the good. When he was called a hero, it was almost like an insult, because he knew underneath the medals pinned on his uniform, he never really fit the bill. He shouldn’t have cared, but the irony of the situation hurt because he knew he did not deserve praise.

He hated heroes for other reasons, too. He’d come to live by a tenant he had seen in an old movie from long ago: you either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain. And, well, Shepard had lived a long time on the battlefield, longer than he had ever expected. All the good men and women of pure and noble hearts had died long ago, buried in graves and condemned to be forgotten. Those who survived war, they quickly learned they had to change. And change they did, from humans to savage animals, all in the name of survival. You didn’t wait to find out if the child that walked up to the barrack was a threat or not; you shot him before he could detonate his bomb. And if it turns out he didn’t have a bomb, you swipe them under the rug, or more accurately, destroy the body and all the evidence. If the public ever found out about all the alliance’s dirty little secrets, they would have shouted war crime and hauled them to Geneva for crimes against humanity, which Shepard found ironic because they mostly fought aliens. He wished he could drag all the politicians and their naive citizenry into a battle so he could watch how quickly they would change themselves. But instead, they hid behind people like him, the people they called heroes, so they wouldn’t have to get their hands dirty. And the greatest insult was that the people they called heroes never carried the noble and valiant qualities the term imbued them with.

Shepard didn’t believe people deserve to exist. At their core, they were self-centered. Human existence was short, nasty, and brutish. He’d experienced it first hand, the cold side of humanity, for as long as he lived. That’s why he embraced it. There was no point in trying to be good if everyone and everything around you was the antithesis of good. Fuck everyone, fuck the galaxy. They weren’t worth saving even from extinction by Saren and the reapers, a fact that made Shepard question everything he had done up to this point. He only wanted an answer to a simple question: what was the point of life? Why should he even bother living through this painful existence if he could end it with the pull of a trigger?

Shepard, at least subconsciously, knew the answer to this question. We never truly knew what came after. Shepard never believed in God, so he shouldn’t have been afraid of an afterlife; to him, god was dead. But we all fear what we do not know, and we know nothing about death, the undiscovered existence from where no victim has returned. Fear makes us bear the pain and suffering, the price of any burden, to continue surviving. It didn’t matter how bad our life is in the present if what came after was ten times worse. That’s why he did the things he did, the good and the bad, to keep surviving. In his line of work, if you wanted to live and avoid the undiscovered journey of death, sometimes you had to commit people to the very same fate that you yourself ran away from: it was a necessity. But it wasn’t always true; many of the things he regretted the most were just that: evil. And he knew it. Telling himself it was necessary would never put his consciousness to rest.

Shepard hated thinking too much, and he’d lost track of the time. It was way past dinner time, but he wasn’t hungry. Alas, he didn’t feel like staying in this room right now. Deciding it was time to check on the scientist, he got up from his desk and opened the door. He could hear the sounds of people talking, and as he rounded the corner to the mess hall, he discovered why: his team of ragtag aliens and alliance soldiers was eating dinner. He felt neglected, even a little sad, that nobody had bothered to tell him; it was almost as if they didn’t want him there. Even the krogan and that quarian freak were here, and he’d been the odd one out! It was almost like an insult.

Shepard cleared his head. He shouldn’t have cared; he didn’t care. He was bad company anyway, a bad person too. It had been getting late anyway, and he couldn’t really blame them for eating. The mess got quiet when they noticed him, and Kaiden spoke up in surprise. “Commander! Well, I mean, it was getting late, and we were afraid to wake you, sir!”

More useless lies. “It’s fine Lieutenant. Not hungry anyway,” he replied in a quiet voice, which was a little uncharacteristic of him. The crew just continued staring at him, not bothering to eat or return to their conversations. “Well, finish your meal, I still have things to take care of.” The crew reluctantly returned to their meals, but they weren’t talking anymore. _No matter._ Shepard opened the door to the med center.

Doctor Chakwas spoke up when she heard the door open. “Ah, commander Shepard. I was wondering when you’d come to treat your injuries.”

“Not hear for that,” he replied with a little attitude. “Where’s the asari?”

“Oh, you mean Liara? She’s in the supply closet over there” Chakwas replied. “She’s the sweetest,” she added, sounding like a grandmother.

“Sure,” Shepard sighed as he walked towards the closet. He wasn’t sure what he should do with her exactly. He was convinced that she wasn’t involved with Saren or her mother. He wasn’t sure if the geth would continue to hunt her down, and maybe kill her, although he wouldn’t be surprised by either scenario. Or, on the off chance she was working for Saren or that she could provide information valuable to him if captured, Shepard could just kill her and remove the risk altogether. It was a thought that made him feel immensely guilty, given that she had saved his life on the planet below. But he couldn’t rule it out. He would do what he had to do if it came to it.

He opened the door, not bothering to ask for permission, surprising the asari. “Commander!”

The door closed behind him, and he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “Doctor,” he answered back, “am I interrupting something?”

She was sitting in a chair in front of a small desk with a built-in computer terminal. She looked down at her hands, choosing her next words carefully “No, no not at all. I was just thinking about…earlier today.”

“You mean the vision?”

“Yes, the vision. And the battle today, so taxing and stressful, it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before,” she replied with tiredness in her voice.

But Shepard wasn’t fooled. She was dodging, and he knew that. “I think that when you were in my head, you saw a lot more than the vision.”

The asari continued to look at her hands, unable to face the commander. “I, I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he was talking about. She’d been trying to forget them for the last couple of hours to no avail. After seeing the memories of the things he had done, she was afraid to even be in the same room as him. She’d been expecting to see him killing people; he was a soldier after all. But Shepard hadn’t just killed people; he’d slaughtered them in a sadistic rage.

“I still haven’t made up my mind about what to do with you.”

Liara looked at the human, afraid. He was going to kill her. She knew that because he’d done it before to people who put him at risk. She got up, retreating towards the opposite wall. “Wait, please, you don’t have to…”

“What, kill you?” Shepard finished. He started laughing; he found it funny how she already knew what he might do. “You need not worry about that, so long as you understand that you need to keep your mouth shut. You saved my life. Consider us even.”

Liara simply nodded her head, implying that she understood perfectly well. But that still begged the question, what was he going to do? She didn’t like the fact that she was locked in a room, alone, with a man that could easily overpower her.

“However, I’m really not sure what to do with you,” Shepard continued. “If we send you back out there, it is very likely that Saren and his forces will come after you again for your expertise. And that is simply something I cannot allow.” _Can a spectre lock someone up in solitary confinement indefinitely for their own good? Probably,_ he decided, but he didn’t like that either.

Liara thought about her situation. The commander was right, she wouldn’t be safe, but what alternatives did she have?

_She is a scientist. Might be useful if we come across other prothean artifacts,_ Shepard realized. “How about this: you stay on the ship, under my protection. In return, you can make yourself useful by analyzing any data you have about the reapers that can lead us to Saren.”

“That, that sounds like a deal,” Liara replied tentatively.

“Good,” Shepard responded as he turned around to let himself out. “And remember, if you breathe a word about what you saw, I am a spectre and this is my ship.”


	25. Old Enemy

Shepard stood in the comm room. It was the day after Therum, and Shepard needed to report to the council. He stood in front of three holographic representations of them: Tevos, Sparatus, and Valern.

He hated listening to them lecture him. “What do you mean the site was destroyed?” demanded Sparatus.

“What do you think it means? The site imploded in on itself during the battle. The mission came first.”

“You are right commander,” Valern stated, “the mission does come first. But do not make it a habit of destruction if it can be avoided.” Finally, at least someone agreed with him.

“Well commander, did you at least learn anything from Benezia’s daughter?” Tevos asked.

The commander nodded his head. “Yes, and no.” He took a breath before explaining. “Unfortunately, she won’t be any help in finding either her mother or Saren.” The turian snarled in disgust, interrupting Shepard; another human failure.

Shepard waited for Sparatus to finish before continuing. “However, she was able to provide insight into Saren’s allies: the reapers.”

“And what did you find?” Valern asked, genuinely curious.

“They are most likely responsible for wiping out the protheans fifty thousand years ago. Saren is working with them now and is trying to bring them back. If Eden Prime is any indication of what one reaper can do, I believe the council should worry about what an entire army’s worth can do. He seems to be searching for a “conduit” to bring more, but still hasn’t found it.”

Sparatus waved his hand through the air as if that could reduce the validity of Shepard’s findings. “Impossible. If these so-called reapers existed, why haven’t they shown themselves already? You have no evidence to prove your assertions. The reapers are probably a creation of geth origin.”

“Commander, you are a council spectre. While your mission remains to hunt Saren, your purpose remains to protect the galaxy, however you see fit. If the reapers are a real threat and are working with Saren, then it is your job to stop them,” Tevos added.

Before the conversation ended, Tevos had one last question for the commander. “And what of Benezia’s daughter?”

“She’s here, on the ship. We’ve already determined that she is not working with her mother or Saren. She’ll remain here as our expert on the protheans, as I remain convinced that they are linked to the reapers.”

“You could have a traitor on your ship commander,” Sparatus warned.

“Enough,” Tevos interrupted. “It’s his ship and his command. Report back to us as soon as you have any new news.”

Shepard nodded his head.

“And good luck commander,” Valern added before the hologram winked out. “As I’m sure you know, it is dangerous out there.”

Now, the room feel quiet. Shepard just stood there with his hands at his sides. And then he started punching one of the comm room walls out of anger. He hated his life. Orders, orders, and more orders. His only problem was that he had nothing better to do. Except, they had told him he could basically do whatever he wanted. He made the choices from here on out. If he didn’t want to hunt Saren or stop the reapers he didn’t have to. Shepard stopped punching the wall for a second, as he suddenly realized something: if he didn’t stop them, who would? Except, this thought was strange to him; he hated the galaxy, why did he care if it was destroyed? But absolute extinction, it just felt wrong, even to him. Maybe he could warn the alliance, and they could take care of it?

Joker’s annoying voice interrupted his thoughts. “Commander, we have a rear Admiral Kahoku on the line who says he wants to speak to you. He has urgent news. Should I put him through to the comm room?”

Ah, just what he needed. Shepard could tell this rear Admiral and be done with it. “Put. Him. Through,” Shepard ordered.

“Sheesh,” Joker replied as he patched Kahoku through to the comms room. He really wondered what went down in Shepard’s meeting with the council.

Shepard waited for the hologram to appear, tapping his foot on the floor as he returned to parade rest. “Commander, a pleasure to finally meet you. Humanity’s first spectre, it’s an honor.”

He hated the praise. “Yes, yes, thank you, admiral. I heard you had urgent news?”

“Yes, I do. One of my ships has gone missing, and my men along with it. I’ve been trying to get the alliance or the council to investigate, but I’ve been ignored. Given your proximity to the Artimus Tau cluster, I thought you could do me a favor and see what happened to my men.” 

“What were they out doing?” Shepard asked.

“I…I sent them to investigate a distress beacon. But it’s been far too long since they reported back.”

Orders. More fucking orders. “Send the coordinates to my pilot and I’ll take care of it, admiral.” If Kahoku cared so much for his men, why didn’t he go out and do it himself? Higher-ups, sitting behind desks, always too afraid to do the work that they sent their men to die in the thousands for.

* * *

“Sir, are you sure Joker can’t just put us down?” Ashley asked, not too excited about having to drop from the sky in the Mako.

“Scared?” Shepard asked back as he laughed sadistically.

He hit the accelerator on the Mako and it dropped over the edge. They fell straight down like, well, a tank would. Falling through the sky, feeling almost weightless, Shepard felt a sense of freedom, as if he was a bird. Ashley and Kaiden did not share his feelings, as evidenced by the look of concern and… was Ashley going to throw up? Shepard laughed again, enjoying the sight of their displeasure as he engaged the thrusters, slowing their descent. Eventually, the Mako reached the ground and bounced once or twice as it landed.

Shepard put the transmission into drive, and the Mako jumped forward as he floored the accelerator. Yep, Garrus’ improvements really did make this thing drive better. He wondered what other neat tricks the turian might have up his sleeve to improve the Mako; he kinda felt guilty for shutting Garrus down, but it did not matter to him. _Keep focused on the task at hand; you are a soldier; emotionless; you follow your orders; those below me follow my orders._ Shepard looked down at the navigation system in front of him. He’d landed a little more than two clicks away from the distress beacon, which would be the first place he would look for the missing soldiers. It should have been a short drive weren’t it for the hills and valleys that blocked his path.

He climbed the last hill and he zoomed in with the Mako’s optics. He could see the distress beacon out on the planes of dirt and sand. Bingo. “Eyes on the target. Get ready, we have no idea what we may…” Shepard started to say as the ground began to shake beneath him. Initially, he still wasn’t very concerned, it could have just been an earthquake. But his eyes almost popped out of his sockets as he saw a monstrous form rise out of the ground, one that he never wanted to see again. “THRESHER MAW!!!!” he screamed as he slammed the Mako into full reverse and sent them back over the hill. He reached the base of the hill, turned around, and started to speed away as fast as possible, leaving trails of dust in the air. Few things could scare Shepard. But the fear of Thresher Maws had been so ingrained in him from that day; it had taken everything from him, the only real acquaintances, even friends, he had ever allowed himself to have. At night, when his eyes were closed and he reached the point of semi-consciousness, the screams and the smell of dead bodies would jolt him back awake. It had been the moment in his life that had really broken him: it showed him the futility of human life, how fragile, ephemeral, and meaningless it all was. And now, it was back. For all Shepard knew, it was back to finish the job started on Akuze and kill the last survivor.

“Commander, what the hell are you doing?” Kaiden demanded.

“That’s a Thresher Maw! Do you know what that thing can do?” he cried. “Call the Normandy for an orbital strike, now!” he requested, delusional. The scared and afraid Shepard that had been buried long ago had resurfaced for once. The little kid from the streets was back; the one who ran when things got too tough; the one who didn’t want to kill people as a pass time; the one who cried his eyes out when he had to take an innocent life. Shepard’s eyes were erratic, darting from side to side, exactly like a child’s would when they lost their parent in the middle of a busy street.

“That would destroy the site, and maybe kill Kahoku’s men if they are still there,” Ashley countered.

Shepard didn’t want to hear it. His survival instincts had long ago taken over, and they told him to run like hell. “Shepard, stop this thing for a second,” Kaiden demanded.

Nothing.

“Commander!”

Shepard hit the brakes, hard, and the Mako slid to a rough stop. Without the sound of the engines running at full throttle, Shepard could hear the sound of his own breathing: erratic and shallow. Ashley couldn’t believe it; the commander was scared shitless.

Kaiden knew of Akuze, but he never thought Shepard had been this scared by it. So scared, in fact, that the cruelest and most effective soldier he had ever met was running away. “What are you doing?”

“That… thing… It’s going to kill us all if we don’t get out of here. I know what happened to Kahoku’s men now, I’ve seen it before! You don’t understand, you’d never understand…” he cried. What scared Kaiden the most about Shepard was the tone of his voice. Shepard sounded like a crazy man straight out of a mental asylum; well, in some regards, maybe he was. But Shepard was tough as nails, no one could deny that.

“Hey, get a hold of yourself. What’s gotten into you?” Ashley demanded.

Shepard took a deep, shuddering breath before responding. “It’s just…that…I…”

Kaiden interrupted him. “It’s alright, I know.”

They sat there for a minute or two, doing nothing. Nobody said a word. It gave Shepard enough time to collect himself. Had he really just run away? He couldn’t believe himself. He was embarrassed. This thing killed his entire squad on Akuze, and he honored them by running away like a coward, as he’d always done in his life. The terror in Shepard’s eyes was replaced by anger and hatred towards the thresher maw. Gradually, the innocent and confused little kid was submerged back into the darkest depths and recesses of his mind; Shepard the maniac was back and in control; the one who killed his way through problems and enjoyed the sight of agony.

“Lieutenant, take the wheel. Give me the main gun. We’re going back in. And killing that thing,” ordered Shepard.

“Wait, aren’t we going to form a plan first, now that you drove us all the way out here?” Ashley asked, a little surprised at his 180-degree turn.

“Ya, blow its fucking head off. Dodge the acid. And don’t get eaten,” Shepard replied as he sat in the gunner’s seat.

He was going to put this over-grown worm down. “Let’s get moving, Alenko.”

Kaiden could only shake his head. The Shepard everyone knew so well was back. Maybe, after all, he wanted the Shepard that would run away in terror. He thought running away was one thing but running back in without a plan was a completely different bag of crazy. Alas, he shouldn’t have expected any better. Kaiden turned the Mako around and made for the sight again. When they reached the peak, Shepard readied the main gun, ensuring it was operational.

Kaiden slowly rolled down the hill, not wanting to rush in like the commander wanted. There had to be a strategy to avoiding the thresher maw, if only he could find it. The ground underneath them began to shake with increasing intensity. Kaiden sped up the Mako, and it barely cleared the earth from which the maw burst out. It roared into the sky before shooting out a stream of green liquid.

“Dodge the acid. Dodge the acid!” Shepard cried, remembering what it could do. He swiveled the gun around and fired, but the shot went wide. It would be another dozen seconds before he could fire, so all he could do was pelt it with machine-gun fire, causing it to retreat back underground. Once the creature was gone, Kaiden slowed down the Mako.

“What the fuck are you doing? Keep driving or that thing is going to eat us!”

“I have a plan, commander. Trust me. If I time it right, we can avoid it from eating us.”

Shepard growled, an odd sound for a human to make, but one nobody was surprised to hear from him. He did not trust easily, mostly because it never worked out. But the ground began to shake again, and he knew that he did not have the time to argue with Alenko. Shepard did put him at the wheel, after all.

The ground beneath the Mako shook with greater intensity, but Alenko still waited. Just when Shepard felt that the Thresher Maw was right underneath them and that he should whack the lieutenant over the head, Alenko put the pedal to the floor. The Mako was sent flying forward just as the Maw burst from the ground. Shepard fired the cannon at the same time as the thresher maw opened its mouth to spit acid, almost at point blank range. The round hit its mouth and exploded inside of its head. Its skull blew up, and massive chunks of its armor-plating and flesh showered the ground. The main column of its body remained upright, sticking out of the ground for another couple of seconds; and then, like a falling tree, it started to fall down, slowly at first, but eventually hit the ground with a massive thud. One of the mandibles was still attached to what remained of the head and twitched every now and then. The thresher maw, it would seem, was dead.

“Ha hah!” cheered Shepard, “that’s what you fucking get you fucking overgrown worm. That’s for Charlie squad!” He hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. To finally kill one of these things made him feel powerful. He jumped out of the Mako and started running toward its dead body. He neared one of the parts of its head, carefully tip-toeing around the acid. He grabbed the massive mandible and smiled; it was the smile of a psychopath. He trailed the mandible to its end, where it was nothing more than a fine point, and broke a piece off; it was no larger than his arm. He made his way back to the Mako. Once he got inside, he deposited the mandible on the floor beneath his seat; he would have to remember to retrieve it back on the Normandy.

“Alenko, get us to the beacon now. Hopefully, there are no more surprises.”

Shepard rotated the gun around, scanning the horizon to ensure that nothing else would pop out of the ground, but the coast was clear. Alenko stopped the Mako in front of the beacon. “We’ve arrived commander,” he informed Shepard.

Shepard hopped out of the Mako again and approached the beacon. The first thing he saw was the bodies. His bravado and cathartic rage instantly left him. He saw a pair of armored legs on the opposite side, missing the upper body. Another soldier had been melted by acid and reeked of corroded flesh. Shepard’s mood dipped again. The thresher maw had done this. “Alenko, get over here and inspect this beacon. Now!”

Alenko got out of the Mako and followed the commander. He connected his omnitool to the beacon. “Commander, this thing isn’t assigned to any specific group. I can’t tell who set it up.”

“Can you find out the reason it was set up for, at least?” Shepard asked.

Alenko took another minute to inspect the beacon before he returned to the commander with more mysterious news. “No reason as to why it was set up. But that begs the question, why was it set up?”

To Shepard, this situation felt all too familiar. Soldiers being called over to investigate a mysterious incident. Thresher maw attacks. And he knew what came next: spec-ops soldiers. Whoever orchestrated Akuze was still out there. “Kaiden, get the dog tags. We’re leaving.” And he would find them, eventually.

* * *

Shepard was back in the Normandy’s comm room. For once, he was somber and sad. But he had a ray of hope: the mother fuckers were still out there. He would find them and execute them all. His shoulders slumped. How would he find those responsible? He had no clues, other than the dog tags of dead soldiers. He’d had Tali examine the memory core of the beacon when he brought it back to the Normandy, but that provided nothing useful. His pessimistic thoughts were interrupted when the hologram appeared in front of him. Admiral Kahoku’s face was there. Shepard could see the worry in his eyes; this man genuinely cared, odd. His beard was rough and unshaven, almost as if he’d neglected himself.

“Commander, did you find any of them? What happened?” Kahoku’s eyes pleaded for good news. News Shepard knew he didn’t have.

“I’m sorry to report commander,” Shepard started to say, “that your men did not survive.”

Kahoku was quiet for a while. He took his hat off his head and held his hand to his chest. “This… is terrible, commander. I regret to inform their families of this news.”

Shepard nodded his head. He lacked sympathy for the most part, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit sad; only a little though. Kahoku continued: “If I may ask, do you know what happened?”

What happened?! He broke loose. “It was a fucking trap. That beacon was a trap designed to lure them there. While they investigated the beacon, a thresher maw attacked them!”

“How do you know it was a trap?” the admiral asked, a bit stunned.

“I’ve seen this before. I was on Akuze when my entire squad was killed by thresher maws. We were also lured out under mysterious circumstances. I believe whoever is behind the attack on your men is the same person responsible for Akuze.”

The admiral crossed his arms, frustrated. He wasn’t sure what to do next. But he had to find answers. “Commander, I will investigate this matter, personally. I will find those who are responsible, and they will be brought to justice.”

Shepard scoffed at the admiral’s reply. “I’ve tried that already. It’s a dead end.” Even then, he still very much doubted that an admiral would take the time to investigate the deaths of a few lowly soldiers.

“Have faith, commander. If I find anything, you will be the first to know,” promised Kahoku. “Goodbye, commander,” he added before the hologram terminated.

* * *

It was three A.M., at least on the ship’s time. Shepard couldn’t sleep, not after today. He reflected on what had happened. He was still shocked that he had run from the thresher maw. Why had he run? His mind flashed back to the events of the fateful night on Akuze.

_"We follow our orders, we finish the mission," John said. The determination he imbued in his tone, however, was almost non-existent in his mind_ _. We're all going to fucking die tonight._

_"Maybe Alvarez was right. Now that it's gone, we can hide from it, save ourselves" asked Lockner._

_Bending over and placing his hands on his knees, John took a couple of good breaths. Turning his head as he panted, he looked over what was left of Alvarez's body. He couldn't even make out the shape of a body anymore, it was just a puddle of green and red ooze. "Negative…that's not an option."_

_John stood up and ordered his remaining men. "We have a job to do._

Yes, he was told good soldiers followed orders. He’d refused to run. And his men died that night. They died because of him, because he thought he could kill anything that came across his path, even though that was impossible. That’s why he’d run today. He’d come across the one enemy he’d never been able to kill. Running, it made him feel weak and helpless; he hated it. He was supposed to be so much more. He was John fucking Shepard, N7 alliance marine. He was the man who stared death in the face a thousand times over and told it to go fuck itself. He picked up the piece of the mandible he’d taken from the thresher maw and twirled it on his desk. It had been a piece of a deadly instrument; and now, it was nothing more than a crude dagger taken from a worm missing its head. Shepard found it funny how a beast of such power and destruction could be reduced to nothing so easily and wondered if that would be his fate when his day came. And just like the thresher maw, he would lay defeated on a forgotten battlefield, with the only memories held of him being anger and hatred. Was this what awaited him? He tossed the dagger onto his bed and stood up from his chair. He needed a drink to clear his head. Did they still stock soft drinks in the mess? Time to find out.

He opened the door. It was so quiet. All he could hear was that the background noise of the ship’s engines. Perfect, the last thing he wanted to see was another person. He stepped forward and turned towards the mess, only to find his assumption wrong. Why was the quarian here? Was it too much to ask to be alone?

“You do know you’re on duty at 0800, right?”

The quarian, who had been sitting quietly at the table, looked up in shock. “Commander!”

“Well?” he responded.

Realizing she had never answered his question, she responded. “Ya, ya I know. It’s just I couldn’t sleep.”

Shepard narrowed his eyes. “Something wrong with the sleeper pod?”

“Yes, well no, I mean not exactly,” she mumbled. “It’s…it’s fine, nothing to worry about.”

“Sure. But I don’t want the engine room on my ship blowing up because you didn’t get enough shut-eye,” Shepard replied.

Tali tilted her head to the side. “Well, it’s too quiet,” she stated simply.

“Too quiet?” he repeated. Shepard couldn’t contain his laughter. “It’s too quiet? When’s the last time anyone’s complained about that!” Then, he started to make fun of her. “What do you want me to do. Start target practice drills at midnight?!” In his delirium, he collapsed to his knees on the floor, barely able to breathe. His jokes weren’t even that funny, but at a time when he found the world so trivial, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Tali looked back down at the table. She’d been expecting to be taken seriously by the commander, not laughed at. Why did nobody respect her? Why were quarians deemed to be treated less than any other species? Was it because of the geth or the stupid suits? Or was it simply because she was a quarian? “Where I come from, if a subordinate brings an issue to a commanding officer, they usually listen and try to address it. I find it doubly ironic that you asked for the issue to be brought to you.”

Her abrupt roast made him suddenly stopped laughing. He collected himself off the floor and stood up straight. Uh-oh. _Why did I have to say anything? They always said not to say anything back to other species. Now, I’m going to get kicked off this ship, or worse, and…_

“Fine. But it still begs the question: I mean, what the hell? It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not even sure I can help you with that,” Shepard stated. She’d expected for him to tear her head off and throw her out the airlock. Well, he was still being a dick about it, but at least he wasn’t mad.

“Well, I mean, it’s complicated and weird and…” she began to say.

Shepard threw open the supply closet. Ordinarily, only the mess deck officer was allowed here, but he was the captain; well, technically. He searched around until he found what he was looking for: the last bottle of cream soda, a childhood favorite. It always gave him a sense of nostalgia. “Well, I’m sure it can’t be any weirder than my life.”

“You mean the one you’re so secretive about?” she replied sarcastically.

Shepard chuckled again, which the quarian wasn’t expecting. He knew he was crazy, and he didn’t care. “Yep, that one.”

She collected her thoughts before speaking. “Well, as I told you before, quarians live on a fleet of ships,” she began. She really hoped she wouldn’t reopen the conversation from last time, where he basically tried to justify what had happened to them. “A lot of these ships are hundreds of years old. Most of them are breaking down, and a lot of the equipment is old and has been repaired more times than I can count. So, the ship's machinery is always really noisy.”

“Must be annoying. Can’t imagine living with all that noise. It’d probably drive me fucking insane,” Shepard interrupted. He took a swig of his drink, wiped his mouth, and then burped. A soldier’s etiquette. Tali, for once, was glad that she wore a mask with air filters.

“You’d think so. But you get used to it; you have to. Think of it like when humans live in the cities; you get used to all the noise of the cars; you get used to living in a skyscraper, even if you’re scared of heights,” she tried to explain.

“Sure,” he replied. He got her analogy, except he wasn’t the one in the skyscraper. No, he was the one living underneath the city in the streets full of garbage. That’s where it made sense, getting used to things; like the smell of garbage and smoke, or the dim lights. She was right, you do have to get used to it.

The conversation ended, and they just sat there. Shepard’s mind lost focus and he reminisced in his childhood; ah, the good times, he tried to tell himself. But were they good times, times when he was weak and powerless? What he missed most was the simplicity, a far cry from a world of spectres and politicians and military strategy.

His thoughts were interrupted by Tali again. “What’s it like, you know, being a soldier?” She was curious at the prospects of her new profession, at least for the next couple of months.

Shepard’s eyes focused again, and he held his soda with both hands, trying to bring his mind back from wandering. “Being a soldier, being a soldier,” he whispered under his breath.

“You know those action movies, the ones you always see ads for? And the soldier saves the day, and everybody lives but the bad guy, and the soldier lives out his days in glory, fame, and happiness.” Shepard shook his head vigorously; “that is not a soldier’s life.”

Shepard took another couple of seconds to collect his thoughts, the sum total of his experiences on the battlefield. It was not something he ever really reflected on as a total concept; he only ever thought about it in its constituent pieces: death, the chain of command, orders. “Being a soldier is dying for other people. Dying for their wars and political games. Your nothing more than cannon fodder, an afterthought. They cherish and praise you so you can die for them. That,” he took a breath, “is my experience.”

Tali looked down at her hands, saddened by this revelation. Shepard technically just shit on a bunch of her friends, even her father. _Would this be my fate too if I stay here?_ she wondered. “But you don’t need to worry about it. I mean, after you find your pilgrimage gift or we stop Saren, I’m assuming you wouldn’t stay here. You have skills: you’re an engineer and technician. You can leave and do something else. It’s not your destiny.”

“So what about you. Can’t you leave and get another job if you wanted?” she asked curiously. It was clear to her that he did not enjoy what he did. But that begged the question: why did he remain here, then?

Shepard shook his head sadly. Ah, he was getting into his past, the thing he never enjoyed talking about. “No.”

Tali looked at him expectantly. “Why?”

“Because,” Shepard spat out, “I can’t.”

“Why?” she asked again. She reminded him of a child who’d ask their parents the same question over and over again, never satisfied with the answer. “Can’t you go to college or something? You could even become an engineer or a doctor if you wanted. And then you wouldn’t have to be a soldier. You clearly don’t like what you’re doing.”

“Not possible. I’d never make it in.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, you can put council spectre on your resumé,” she replied, “that’ll get you in anywhere.”

“It’s cause I’m too dumb! I can barely read,” he shouted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” he asked, now in a quiet voice.

She remained silent. Shepard clearly had very little self-confidence. To be fair, she didn’t have much either. But she was a quarian, and he was a human council spectre! He could achieve anything he wanted if he tried.

“I told you, being a soldier doesn’t get you anything but superficial rewards,” Shepard explained. “You’d think they’d be nicer to us when soldiers got out of the military,” he added, “but the opposite is true. Sure, they’re nice to you when you wear the uniform in public. But they refuse to higher you, even for the lowliest jobs. How are you any better than the dishwasher when all you know how to do is kill people? It’s not a skill people are willing to pay for, not unless you want to become a criminal. And there is the trickery in all of this: when you kill for your government you’re hailed as a hero, but when you kill for other people, you’re called a criminal and hunted down.” Shepard slammed his soda down on the table in anger; he still wasn’t done with his rant. “So you see, they only respect a soldier when he does their bidding; like cattle being led to slaughter.”

The mess was quiet for a second, and neither spoke. Shepard realized what he had done. He felt guilty for putting his problems on other people, but he couldn’t contain himself. People always looking down on him, questioning him, doubting him! Oh, go do this and go do that and your life is going to be better! Fat chance. Oh, go to college or get another job. Life isn’t fair; life doesn’t work that way because it wasn’t designed to! “I do not know, maybe it’s just us humans who are like that. Maybe the quarians are different.” What did he know about it? He was nothing more than a dumb soldier.

Shepard got up and left back to his quarters, leaving Tali to sit all alone again. It saddened her to see him so angry and depressed; it made her afraid for the people she knew, even if she’d never seen a quarian soldier act like this before. Did they all have this hidden side to them? In hindsight, she was the one who kept digging and asking questions. She was curious about his background, but she realized she had gotten more then she bargained for.

He was back in his quarters now. He returned to twirling the Thresher Maw’s mandible. He felt worthless. _I am worthless,_ his mind cried. He usually kept his thoughts to himself, but she had pushed him over the edge. Why this, why that, why, why, why? she had asked him. Shut the fuck up for once! Just let me be and dwell in my agony. He got up and stood in front of the mirror before taking off his shirt. He just looked at himself. The sickly yellow eyes crisscrossed by thin red veins; the bags under his eyes; his black, uncombed heir; the scraggly beard he’d neglected to shave for a couple of days now; the scars that covered his entire body; the contours of defined muscle; the blue and brown bruises that were still healing. He clenched his fists in anger. That man who stood in the mirror, whose permanent scowl had been embedded onto his face; that was him. He hated looking at him.


	26. Being-for-itself

Author’s Note: With this chapter, I have completed two personal records: 1) to reach 100,000 words, and 2) the longest chapter I have written so far. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy this somber note to his story. And Happy New Year!

* * *

The new equipment had finally fucking arrived! Shepard’s eyes gleamed as he saw the forklift slowly depositing the cases. Shepard was back at Terra Nova; it hadn’t changed much since the time he was stationed here. Joker had landed the ship at Terra Nova’s spaceport. It was rather small if he had anything to say about it. He was sure they’d need to build a new one if they wanted the colony to grow further, but that had nothing to do with him.

The Normandy had been given a budget increase, and he’d indulged his destructive side. New weapons, armor, explosives, mod kits, you name it; it was a soldier’s Christmas. He’d taken requests from each member of the team to see what they needed; mostly, more weapons, which was fine by him. He’d have the supply officer sort through these and distribute them later.

But for now, he wanted his new armor. He’d been using a spare set after the events of Eden Prime and his fight on the citadel had wrecked his N7 armor. He scanned the boxes until he found what he was looking for; unlike the rest of the merchandise, which had arrived in wooden crates from the alliance, his special package had come in a large metallic case. Premium armor from less than scrupulous sources. It was 1900, and most of the day crew was getting ready for bed. But not him; he barely slept anyway. He’d rather get his hands on his equipment and ensure it was ready for his next deployment; if things went well, he’d probably be done in an hour; however, if things did not go well, he would probably be up until tomorrow morning.

He tried lifting the armor case up, but it was way too heavy, even for him. He resorted to his biotics, lifting the case up into the air. He couldn’t wait to try it on, but he needed to get to his cabin first. When he got there, he deposited the case gently on the floor; it was rather uncharacteristic of him, given that he usually used his biotics to thrown things or people, but he wouldn’t dare do so with the box in front of him; that would be a waste of 40,000 credits. Black market armor wasn’t cheap. Sure, you could get armor for cheap, but that was most likely a ripoff. The real stuff was moderately priced, but he still wasn’t looking for that. He was looking for top of the line stuff, decked out with cutting edge technology, some of it illegal. It’s what all the mercenary captains wore when they killed alliance soldiers, just standing there as you fired your rifle until it overheated. Now that he was a spectre, he’d indulge in his privileges and use their own weapons against them: a heavily modified version of Terminus power armor.

He tried opening the metal crate, prying at the cover with his fingernails, to no avail. Deciding he should have picked up the crowbar from the cargo bay, he returned back downstairs, bouncing on his toes in the elevator. When the doors opened, he burst out from the elevator, colliding with Tali and sending her to the floor. He stopped in his tracks. _Oops._ “Sorry,” apologized Shepard as he extended out his hand. She accepted, and he hauled her back to her feet rather violently; she felt as if her shoulder was being torn out of its socket. Shepard continued on without a care in the world, searching for the crowbar in Garrus’ tool bench. Finding what he needed, he returned back to the elevator just before the doors closed. It was an odd ten seconds as him and Tali stood there in silence, waiting for the elevator to arrive at its destination so they could go their separate ways. They hadn’t really spoken since that night in the mess, and he was inclined to keep it that way. The doors opened and he returned to his cabin.

He got on one knee and gently pried the cover off the box with the crowbar. He deposited the crowbar on the floor carefully. He then turned his attention to the box and the prize that lay inside: the armor. He took it out, piece by piece, laying it out across his room until all the pieces were out of the box. He picked up the helmet and put it on. He grinned, feeling like a kid at Christmas; well actually, is this what Christmas felt like? No, it couldn’t be. People celebrate with their family and friends, and exchange gifts. Shepard was all alone, and this was no gift, he’d bought it himself; or with alliance credits, but still, it was no gift. Now his cheery mood was gone, but he still had the armor to take care of.

He took off the helmet and placed it on his bed. Assembling the suit would probably be a pain in the ass, but he was looking forward to the challenge. The end result was supposed to fully encase him in metal and armor; while he found it hard to believe he would be able to move in it, servos built into the joints were supposed to aid with movement. The weight of the upper armor was also supposed to be transferred to the legs of the suit via an internal exoskeleton. Most of the jargon he never exactly understood, but he was assured the end result would make him an agile tank, perfect for a vanguard.

He opened the instruction manual. It was annoying they didn’t send these from the shop already assembled; they threatened an additional 5,000 credits, which was outright theft, and Shepard would just not have it; he’d rather assemble it himself. He read the instructional manual for once, specifically because he did not want to break anything. He picked up the screwdriver included in the kit and got to work.

* * *

It was four in the morning. He hadn’t expected to stay up this late working on the armor, but he wanted to finish it. He’d already taken four trips down to the cargo deck, stolen the blowtorch, and started welding pieces together; he’d have to remember to wear the protective gear next time but honestly, if they were going to send it to him, they could have at least included all of the tools in the box!

The armor was completely open from the back, but according to the instructions, once he put his arms and legs into the suit, it would close around him; hopefully. Time to put that theory to the test. He connected his omnitool to the armor and opened the application. It was a new experience for him, as he’d never really purchased a new piece of technology. He turned the suit on and walked into it. It closed around him. And then it was done.

It felt strange, even a little bit uncomfortable. The cold, hard metal rubbing against his flesh. The suit continued to power up and its joints unlocked, allowing Shepard free movement. He turned around, each step causing a loud thud against the metal floor, and picked up the instructions. The suit didn’t feel right, so he must have done something wrong. _Oh…_ Shepard realized; he’d forgotten the suit he was supposed to wear underneath. He disengaged the armor from his omnitool, got out, stripped down to his underwear, and put on the undersuit. It fit him like a glove; a thin layer of gel cushioning in between layers of Kevlar KM-2. It made him feel colder than usual; that was probably the gel. While he may have found himself shivering now, he was confident that in the middle of combat he would welcome the temperature control. He stepped back into the armor and it sealed around him. He found it rather difficult to move, each step taking immense effort.

He decided to take a seat in his chair, and rather than gracefully sitting down as he had anticipated, the weight of the armor broke the chair, sending him to the floor. The landing hurt less than expected, so he assumed the armor was working, at least. He activated his omnitool, and the suit projected it around his gauntleted hand. He opened the application for the suit, scrolling through the settings. He wasn’t sure exactly what he needed to fix, so he just started playing around with it. This was probably why the alliance never gave their soldiers these powered suits: they were too much of a hassle to set up. The price was probably another factor, but Shepard hadn’t bothered with that in this case. After making some changes, he tentatively got up. He looked down at the chair; it had been utterly crushed by his weight, but that was a sign that bode well for hand to hand combat. He paced the length of the room, testing if he felt any resistance in the armor. In fact, Shepard felt as if he wasn’t wearing a suit of armor at all. He couldn’t believe it.

Picking up the helmet that he had deposited earlier on the bed, he put it on. Initially, he couldn’t see very well. His vision was restricted to the two, narrow eye slits that had been cut into the helmet. But then, like magic, the entire interior of the helmet lit up with a display. He could see everything around him as if he wasn’t wearing a helmet at all. He returned to the mirror to look at the full configuration. The armor was…impressive. His entire body was covered in thick armor plates; if anything got passed the shields on this thing, they’d never get passed this armor. Gone were the days of being taken out by snipers, or so he thought. Those areas were movement was necessary, such as around joints, did not have the luxury of having thick armor plates; but they remained protected by advanced synthetic composite fibers that he could not even begin to recite.

He had the armor painted a matte black; it wouldn’t do well to walk into battle shining, after all. On his faceplate, a crimson skull had been painted; human, of course. It was the last thing he wanted his enemies to see: what they would become after they’d been left to rot away.

Wanting to take his armor on a test drive, he walked out of his room and jogged the few meters to the elevator. He was already loving it. Weight would no longer impede his speed or movement in battle. He pressed the button to summon the elevator. While he waited, he began to fidget with the options for the heads-up display. Zoom in without a scope, night vision, thermal, target tracker… Where was this thing when he was an ordinary soldier? No wonder some of those mercenaries would never fucking die. The doors to the elevator opened and Shepard walked out onto a dead quiet observation deck. The galaxy map floated in the center, its millions of stars rotating around the galactic core. _I wonder what’s there?_ Shepard thought. 

He walked towards the front of the ship. He wanted to look out into space. Joker still sat in his pilot’s chair, sleeping. Only one of the comm operators was awake, and she looked bored out of her mind. He couldn’t blame her; he didn’t want to imagine how it must be to sit at a quiet terminal for the entire night with nobody to talk to. He took a seat in the copilot’s chair, staring out into space. He could see stars covering the entire sky. With the advanced sights in his helmet, even the dimmest star was a bright spot.

Shepard found the stars oddly beautiful; so many of every color and variety. For a moment, he almost believed that there would be some quiet corner of the galaxy, a corner where he could live alone, in solitude, without the company of others. There must be peace somewhere, or was destruction destined to follow him? Shining, pulsing specks of red, green, blue, and yellow light…its sights like these that he never really got to see: beauty. Those quiet moments when nothing happens, and all is at peace. He wished his life was always like that.

His eyes scanned the sky as he just sat back and relaxed, something he hadn’t done for a while. The worries and stresses of the world faded away from him; there was no Saren, or council, or spectre responsibilities to worry about. Just him and the stars. His eyes grew heavy, and they eventually closed, robbing him of the beauty of the stars. The darkness had enveloped him.

* * *

Shepard awoke abruptly to someone shaking his shoulder. His eyes were still heavy, and he found it difficult to lift them open. He knew he couldn’t have been asleep for long; why would the world allow him to sleep?

“Commander,” cried a voice next to his shoulder, “Wake up. We have an urgent communication.” It was the comm operator.

Shepard stumbled out of the chair, still in his armor. “Who?” he asked as he rolled his neck, trying to relieve the tension he felt there.

She tossed him the comms headset rather abruptly instead of answering his question. He caught it in his outstretched hand, took off his helmet, and put the headset on. “Commander Shepard of the Alliance Navy,” he stated into the mic, “who am I speaking with?”

“Please, I don’t have much time,” whispered a woman. She was clearly scared for her life; Shepard had heard that voice before many times over. “They’ve taken over the asteroid. They’re going to crash it into the planet.”

“Ma’am, who’s taken what asteroid?” Shepard demanded. Asteroid warfare? He wasn’t cut out for this. He was a soldier; how on Earth would he stop a fucking asteroid?

“Pirates. They came out of nowhere and took control,” she explained quickly. “You have to shut down the fusion torches.”

Shepard slammed his fist into his thigh. Why couldn’t he just relax for a night? It would seem the galaxy had bigger plans for him. “Can you give me the location of the asteroid?”

“X57, X57!” she repeated before the comm went dead.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need more than that. Ma’am!” he screamed into the comm, but it was no use. She was already gone. Shepard handed the headset back to the operator.

“Get everyone to battle stations. And I want my team on standby, now!” Shepard ordered.

“Yes sir,” the operator meekly replied as she put the ship on full alert.

Shepard returned to the cockpit. “Joker, rise and shine!”

Joker groaned. It was too early. “What do you want, commander? Can’t you see it’s still night outside? Look, you can still see the stars in the sky,” he argued. Of course you could see the stars outside, the ship was floating in space. However, Shepard couldn’t tell if the pilot was trying to be funny or if he was still sleepy.

Either way, Shepard was not having any of it. “Get your ass up now, or I am going to break every bone in your body. Find asteroid X57 on your fucking maps and get me there. On the double, mister!”

* * *

Shepard stood in the cargo bay with his team. They looked pretty shit, he wasn’t going to lie. Woken up at five in the morning and given no time to get ready. If the situation weren’t so serious, he would have laughed at Williams’ mess of hair. But he found it admirable that they were already in their combat armor, waiting for him to give orders that might send them to their deaths. It’s not that he was planning to get them killed, but it was an inevitable reality of battle. It was a shame they hadn’t had time to unpackage the new toys they’d gotten. Except for Shepard; he wore his new armor, and he felt invincible.

“Alright, here’s the situation,” Shepard began to explain. “Pirates have taken control of an asteroid and are planning to ram it into Terra Nova.”

“How did they move an asteroid?” Williams asked in shock, a question Shepard had anticipated.

“The asteroid was already being moved by construction teams. Three fusion torches are propelling this thing, and we need to turn them off.”

Wrex huffed, a little confused. Sure, he wasn’t one for strategy, but there was always an easier way to do things. “Wait, there’s a solution we aren’t seeing here: can’t we just have your ship airstrike the fusion torches?”

At least someone on this ship shared some of his brutality. Alas, it was not an option, and he let that be known by shaking his head. “Unfortunately, not. The facilities are heavily shielded, and the Normandy’s guns won’t be able to punch through.”

Tali raised her hand tentatively, a little confused. Shepard granted her question with the nod of his head. “Why did they shield the torches?”

Shepard started laughing, and Tali just looked at the floor, embarrassed at being belittled in front of the entire squad. “I asked the colony that too. Get this: it was ‘meant to protect the torches from terrorists blowing them up’,” he mocked in air quotes. It was so ironic, and there was nothing he could do about it. The safety measure reminded him of the inefficiencies of government bureaucrats; where they wanted to help people, they just made things more difficult; and everyday people paid the price. “They’d also taken the amazing foresight to install artillery guns to protect the torches from armored vehicles, so the Mako is not going to be an option either. We’re going to have to approach on foot.”

His team just stared at him in silence. It would seem that they too did not like the security measures that had been installed to protect the torches, mainly because they would be working against them. Their displeasure was obvious: it was in the anger conveyed in the furrowed brows of the humans, and the barring of teeth from the krogan, and the mandibles tucked close to the face of the turian. The quarian, well, he couldn’t really tell given her mask, but he assumed she wasn’t happy either. “We have three hours to shut off the torches before the asteroid’s orbit conflicts with the colony, so we’re going to have to split up to get this job done.”

There were six of them in total: Shepard, Alenko, Williams, Vakarian, Zorah, and Urdnot. “There are going to be three teams, one for each fusion torch,” he began to explain. The main obstacle was making sure there was a tech specialist on each team to shut down the torch. “Williams and Alenko, you're going to be headed for the first torch, due West of our drop position.” He thought he’d pair the alliance soldiers up rather than splitting them to work with the aliens; two alliance soldiers, working under the same protocols and tactics, would face the best odds. “Wrex and Garrus, you’ll be headed to the eastern torch.” In all honesty, he thought they had the best survival odds. A krogan mercenary with several hundred years of combat experience; plus a turian ex-soldier, and everyone knew the rigors of the turian navy; they would be a formidable pair. Shepard’s only worry was that he didn’t know if the turian was going to be able to get through the encryption on the torch’s controls; Garrus was a good combat technician, he knew that much, but jamming a rifle and hacking a computer system were two very different things. “Tali, you’re gonna be with me, headed to the southern torch.” Shepard would have rated his chances pretty high at surviving if he were alone; he enjoyed it, even excelled at it. But he would have to protect the quarian all the way to the control panel; she would slow him down, but it was a risk he would have to take. And he didn’t want anyone else being responsible for losing the quarian if that’s what happened; only he would carry that burden because it wouldn’t affect him; loss hadn’t bothered him for a while now.

“We’re out in ten, so get ready!”

* * *

Shepard floated down to the surface of the asteroid, landing with a thud on its cold, rocky surface. The same stars that entranced him hours ago were still there, but now was not the time for gazing. He turned his head to his left, and he could see the planet of Terra Nova looming large in the distance. A ball of green and blue, it looked so much like Earth from up here; he hated that planet: the home of the human race and his childhood caretaker; well, only if you considered poverty a caretaker.

The rest of his team followed him down, landing behind him. “Joker, if the pirates show up with any ships, I’m trusting your discretion with handling them. However, if you don’t think you can take them, retreat. I am **not** losing the Normandy.”

“Loud and clear, commander,” Joker replied. “And you know I won’t lose my baby.” Shepard grimaced. He hated the pilot. He was too happy and jolly for a cripple who could barely walk. But the real reason he hated Joker was that he could still smile and live, despite his pain; an accomplishment Shepard could not achieve, nor believe he ever would. So, in that way, Shepard was less than a cripple.

“Alright, we all have our assignments. The coordinates have been uploaded to your omnitools,” Shepard said. He took a moment to just stand there; he knew the stakes. “I don’t know if we’re all going to succeed and come back alive. And if we don’t, take solace in the fact that we’ll die with another twenty million on the colony!” he yelled, trying to be funny in a morbid kind of way.

Nobody really knew how to react to Shepard’s comment. To joke about genocide, even their own deaths (if they wanted to be self-centered), was disconcerting. And the skull plastered all over the faceplate of his armor was not helping. However, this was the commander they had chosen to serve. To most, even the Krogan, despite Shepard’s morbidity, these were still questions they’d all faced at one time or another. But Tali, she hadn’t had to face these questions until recently. And what was worse was that she was the one going with him to the fusion torch.

Shepard decided he would change one last aspect of the plan before they dispersed. “Listen, I’m thinking we all wait until all teams are in position before attacking. That way, if one of us arrives early, the other pirate groups won’t be alerted.”

“Hit them at the same time. They’ll be disorganized and confused. I like it,” Garrus stated. Alenko just nodded his head, not needing to add commentary. Shepard would understand that he got the message.

The team broke apart. Shepard and Tali faced southward from their position. Joker had deposited the team on a plateau, and Shepard’s fusion torch was at the base of it, four clicks away. It would be a steep descent, but he thought it was the perfect opportunity to put his armor through its paces. Tali, however, was not so enthusiastic. “Commander, how exactly are we getting down there?” she asked, trepidation in her voice. It was a large drop down a very steep cliff.

Shepard started to laugh a little. “Well, we’re going to jump,” he said as he approached the edge.

“What? Are you crazy?” she asked. But she didn’t want him to reply. She already knew the answer, and she didn’t like it.

“Yes,” he replied sadistically, laughing again. He jumped into the air, somersaulting over the edge. He floated down gently, thanks to the almost non-existent gravity, and landed on his feet. He looked behind him, only to see that the quarian was still at the edge of the cliff, standing just before the edge. He didn’t have the time to deal with the fear of heights. Using his biotics, he pulled her over; he could hear her scream even from down here. “Land on your feet,” he recommended to her via the comms.

She landed on her freakishly long toes, which kind of reminded Shepard of a cat. “Don’t. You. Dare. Do that again,” reprimanded Tali.

“What’s the worst that could happen in almost zero-g,” he replied, chuckling at his own joke.

Tali could never understand what he found so funny about other people’s displeasure. She really did serve a broken man, but at least he’d been generous with the paycheck.

Shepard scanned the valley with his optics. Nobody. They were probably all inside the facility and hadn’t realized that Shepard had arrived. That was the benefit of having a stealth ship; if only it had a bigger gun, though. He and Tali would have to run the remaining four clicks. The outpost was in the middle of a flat field, and they could be easily noticed. They’d have to cross the distance as quickly as possible. Shepard was not interested in having a protracted sniper battle without adequate cover. Besides, he wanted to get up close and personal with these pirates.

Unfortunately, his plans of sprinting were somewhat misguided. The reduced gravity made it difficult for him to keep his footing. He’d quickly realized he’d have to bounce his way there. _Great,_ he thought, _now they’ll see us for sure._ He’d have to resort to the spacewalk training he’d been given during the N7 program. Yes, he had been trained, but that was almost a decade ago. He’d never used it since. Even then, most of it took place inside ships and buildings, not in open environments. He tried his best, but he was much too slow, most of his energy being spent propelling him into the air as opposed to covering horizontal distance. However, Tali had grown up in space. Ships didn’t always have anti-gravity, or they repaired equipment out in the vacuum. Her favorite thing when she was a child was when the antigrav was turned off during repairs, and all the children would float around, bumping into one another. Moving on the asteroid was almost second nature to her. She quickly realized that if she angled her landing just right, she could propel herself forward instead of into the sky. Shepard saw this as she got farther and farther out in front of him; he tried to emulate her technique but to no avail. He ended up crashing into the ground or twirling in midair when he didn’t mean to. It would seem that he wasn’t as nimble as her, especially in his armor.

“Tali, try not to get too far ahead. Don’t want you getting ambushed all alone,” Shepard warned her.

Tali stopped to look behind her. She could only shake her head in disbelief as she watched Shepard tumbling through the air, waving his arms as if it would help him. She jumped back to him in one clean arc and stopped right in front of him. “You’re doing it wrong. I thought zero-g was no problem for you,” she said judgmentally. Now it was her turn to be mean.

“Ya, I know,” he spat. “It’s been a while,” he added, trying to defend himself.

“Try using your toes, they’ll give you more control,” she said.

Shepard looked down at his boots and then back at her. “Have you seen these things? That’s not going to work,” Shepard said as he pointed to his thick boots, trying to make an excuse.

“Then stop putting so much power into the jumps. Strength is just going to send you spinning,” she advised.

Shepard didn’t like being helped. It made him feel weak and inferior. It had been ingrained in him that if he needed help, he wasn’t good enough, that he needed to try harder. He always told himself he didn’t need assistance. He’d done everything himself and look how far he had gotten! Help was for the weak, those who couldn’t survive on their own and needed saving, like her. “Listen, I’m fine. Just… keep going, I won’t be far behind.”

“Fine.” Even when she tried to help him, he’d been a dick. It was his problem if he wanted to scuff up his armor anyway. So, she continued along the path towards the outpost, moving quickly and silently. Shepard, instead of listening to Tali, redoubled his efforts. He put even more of his strength into each jump and continued to land on his heels. Shepard was so single-minded; he believed every problem had the same solution: just brute force it. Enemy just won’t die? Brute force it. Door won’t open? Brute force it. Piece of fruit keep sliding away from your fork? Just brute force it. If something was wrong, it was with the world around him, not himself. Not going fast enough on the asteroid? Just brute force it. Yes, because trying even more of the same failure would somehow make it work, at least in his mind.

His legs quickly burnt out, and he became increasingly disoriented and dizzy. So dizzy, in fact, that he couldn’t avoid the boulder that was in his way, crashing into it rather loudly and sliding down its face. He landed on his back, feeling a little defeated. Then, he started laughing. An asteroid was hurtling through space about to kill millions of people, including himself, and he was about to fail because he couldn’t get to the fusion torch. He stood up, only to find Tali standing about 20 meters away, having gone backward a little. She looked at him, almost expectant, tapping her foot on the ground. “Can you just put your ego aside for one second and listen when somebody is trying to help you?” she asked over the comm. Even with her mask, he could tell she was just glaring at him.

“I didn’t ask for help,” he replied grumpily.

“But you clearly need it,” she argued back.

Shepard started to tentatively walk towards her, the only movement he could do it would seem. When he reached her, she just stood there, arms crossed over her chest. “You didn’t ask my permission when you tossed me over that cliff back there. So don’t expect me to be any nicer.”

Shepard shook his head. “That was different. I…” he tried to say before being cut off by Tali.

“tried to make fun of me?” she offered.

Shepard was speechless, mostly because that was a part of it. But more than that: was he really being one-upped by her? “Listen, can we get back on task? We need to stop this asteroid,” he replied, trying to change the subject.

“Exactly,” she spat, enunciating each syllable of the word, which only intensified her exotic accent. “So why don’t you listen to your teammate for a change the way we can actually get there!” She knew she was taking a risk by being so aggressive. But they still had three clicks to go and they were making very bad time. Besides, her life was at stake here too, and unlike her commander, she was not suicidal. She still had a family and friends she wanted to see again, back at the flotilla.

Shepard stood in stunned silence. He’d never expected her to snap at him like that. He couldn’t really get angry, either, because he knew he was wrong. But he didn’t want help, even though he so clearly needed it. Suddenly, he heard a voice over his comms. “Alenko here. We’ve reached the torch and are waiting on your signal.”

_They were already at their torch?_ “Copy that, Alenko.”

His face was red with embarrassment, and he was suddenly thankful he had the helmet on. He had to get to that other torch now. If not, he’d be putting everyone at risk. “Fine,” he finally said.

“As I said before, if you’re losing your balance, you need to land on your toes. Try shorter hops too. Also, I’m noticing you’re keeping your feet together. You need to keep one in front of you and one behind you,” she recommended.

Shepard moved his legs into the stance she suggested. “Ah. Almost like boxing,” Shepard commented as he recognized his footing.

Tali tilted her head to the side, confused, a que Shepard was picking up on. “Oh, come on, you do not know what boxing is?” Shepard said as he raised his fists.

She hissed back at him, a sound Shepard was clearly not expecting. _Wow, she really is more like a cat,_ he told himself. Either way, he got the general sense she wasn’t pleased with him messing around. “Okay, okay. Ready when you are,” Shepard offered, trying to keep the peace.

She pointed her head in the direction they needed to go, signaling Shepard to get moving. _Feet apart, use toes, light hops._ He jumped once and landed without a hitch before stopping. He jumped again, then stopped. “Okay, I think I got the hang of this. Can we please go now?”

 _He could have at least said thank you_. Without her, the only place she thought he was going was off the asteroid, floating away to oblivion. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. But still, they would be making much better time now, even if Shepard still wasn’t as fast as her.

* * *

They hid in a shallow ditch, a little over 100 meters out from the torch. Shepard scanned it with is optics, trying to peer inside the tinted windows. While they were originally darkened to prevent UV light from harming the staff, it was now an impediment. “Garrus, are you guys in position?”

“Affirmative, waiting on your signal,” Garrus replied, his raspy voice sounding even more robotic over the comms unit. Shepard switched over to the general channel before speaking. “Alright, we’re all in position. Remember, your main objective is to disable the fusion torches.”

“Got it, Shepard.”

“Copy that.”

They were waiting on him. Shepard looked up to the fusion torch. It was a towering column of metal which terminated in a bright orange ball of fire. “Commence the attack. I repeat, commence the attack.”

Shepard equipped his shotgun, readying himself. He looked over at Tali, her hands shaking. She was scared. _Too bad,_ Shepard thought. He had a mission to complete, and whether she liked it or not, she had to come along as well. “Alright, let's finish this,” Shepard said as he stood up from the ditch and made the final trek to the outpost. The second floor hung out over the first, and Shepard hid in its large Shadow. The door was a few feet to his left. It was now or never. “Tali, get this door open.”

She got about her work, disabling the doors lock, while Shepard got in position, pointing his shotgun at the entrance in case any attackers were inside the room. His anticipation built, eagerly awaiting combat. He ground his boots into the asteroid's surface, almost like a bull kicking up dirt before it charged. The door’s lock turned green, and Tali looked back at him. “The doors unlocked. Just waiting on you.”

Shepard nodded his head. “Get behind me,” he offered. “If anyone’s in there, I’ll take care of them.” Her job was finished, at least for now. It was Shepard’s turn to do his part: kill anyone between them and the controls. “Fucking pirates,” he said quietly, trying to work up his anger and rage. He slammed the button on the door. Unfortunately for him, it only opened to an airlock. He lowered his shotgun, confused.

“You didn’t think whoever built this would let the door open right into this atmosphere, did you?” Tali asked rhetorically. Shepard fumed quietly to himself; there was always something blocking his path. He reluctantly walked into the room first, and Tali followed behind him, her pistol raised. The door closed, trapping them inside. “Pressurizing, please wait,” spoke the feminine robotic voice. He wasn’t waiting for anything though. He approached the next door and waited at its side. He motioned for Tali to do the same on the other side. “We need to clear the facility first, then we’ll find the control panel,” Shepard said.

Tali nodded her head, indicating that she understood. Shepard found it ironic how she was so feisty out in the valley, but now she was quiet, almost scared. This was now Shepard’s realm, and she had nothing to add to it. He didn’t think she would be much help in the fight unless she was hacking shields or weaponry. He’d have to do most of the killing. The door hissed as it slid open.

Shepard peered into the poorly lit room, finding it difficult to see in the darkness. He burst through the door, Shotgun raised. A wall of crates blocked off his left, creating an artificial hallway. At its end, half a dozen Batarians were already waiting for him. Some held creatures on leashes, which Shepard assumed was their equivalent of attack dogs. Shepard scanned the crates, seeing if anything would be of use to him. His eyes focused on a barrel with a triangle on it, enclosing a flame; _warning,_ it read, _highly explosive. Hydrazine_ read another label _._

One of the pirates raised his hand, palm outstretched. “You do know you’re going to die now, human. Surrender now and your death will be…”

He never had time to complete his sentence as Shepard picked up the barrel with is biotics and chucked it at them, shooting it as it reached its target. He jumped backward, knocking Tali to the ground as the barrel blew up, sending shrapnel and guts everywhere. The facility’s alarms begin to blare, and yellow warning lights flashed in the ceiling above. Shepard was already on his feet, trying to peer through the smoke, but Tali was still trying to get off the floor. An arm landed on her. “Get off of me!” she screamed as she tried to elbow her invisible attacker. The arm fell to the floor, next to her. She jumped up and away from it. _Ancestors forgive me,_ she thought as she looked at the arm; it had been crudely dismembered from the explosion, having come apart at the elbow joint. The skin on the hand had been charred and was still smoking. She felt herself about to vomit and focused on her breathing. That was the last thing she wanted to do right now. She looked forward, only to see Shepard rounding the corner.

Shepard walked through the area where the pirates had once stood. Nothing more remained than blackened parts of bodies. One of the pirates had been blown into the wall before being killed by the heat of the explosion; the imprint where his body hid the wall from the blast remained, clean blue metal in the shape of a person surrounded by ashen streaks. Tali saw this, feeling even sicker. How could anyone do this, justify this? By the time she had reached the corner, Shepard was already engaged in combat with several more pirates. The surprise attack, flashing lights, and ringing ears from the explosion all served to disorient the pirates, some of whom weren’t wearing helmets. One by one, they dropped to the ground as Shepard worked with brutal efficiency. Deciding she should help, she aimed her pistol and fired twice. Unfortunately, one of the shots ended up hitting Shepard instead of the mercenary she had meant to fire at. “Sorry,” she called out, but she couldn’t even be heard over the violence. Shepard himself had barely noticed, his new shields having absorbed the shot. Feeling guilty, she decided she should help in the only way she knew how. She prepared her omnitool, readying the overheat program. Her omnitool pulsed with orange light as her program went to work on the pirates’ weapons, rendering them useless. Shepard, although he hadn’t seen Tali use her overheat, quickly realized that even though the pirates were pulling the triggers on their weapons, they weren’t firing.

Shepard started to laugh out loud, like a maniac. He was enjoying the carnage, especially against the Batarians. The pirates tried to run to the door of the staircase, but Shepard brought down a stack of crates, blocking their escape route. No one would be escaping. Shepard mowed them done with his shotgun until all that remained was a pile of corpses on the floor. With another wave of his hand, he tossed the crates away from the entrance of the staircase. He looked behind him and realized that Tali was still taking cover behind the crates at the other corner of the room. “Come on,” he told her over the comms, “we’re almost done here.”

She heard his voice, and her stomach turned. Yes, she was scared about the entire situation in general. But the eerie sense of glee his tone carried is what scared her the most. She remembered their conversation from a couple of nights ago. What a good soldier was. Now, she could clearly see his interpretation in action. He was unquestioning and killed with a robotic sort of precision and tenacity, almost like the geth. The way he threw himself into combat, reveled in it, embraced it, certainly showed that he indeed was ready to die.

She carefully stepped over the bodies, not wanting to coat her boots in blood. Shepard entered the staircase, quickly turning 90 degrees to cover the stairway. She heard a shotgun fire and saw the flash of light reflect out of the room. A body tumble down the stairs, and it eventually crashed into the back wall of the staircase. He continued up the stairs, two at a time. Tali entered the stairway, following him.

When Shepard arrived on the second floor, he turned to his left and right, quickly spotting three Batarians. He turned his shotgun, ready to fire.

“Wait, wait!” one cried. In a split second, Shepard would have to decide if he was going to kill the pirates in front of him or first hear what they had to say. _What could be crueler than giving hope and then taking it away?_ Shepard knew three mercenaries weren’t going to harm a hair on his head. He lowered his shotgun.

“What?” he spat.

The one who had stopped him stepped forward, clearly the leader of the bunch. “This wasn’t our idea and I’m not getting paid enough for this?”

“Do you really believe that is going to stop me from killing you?” Shepard asked, taking a step towards them and raising his gun again.

The Batarians retreated backward, trying to stay away from him. “I… I can give you information?” he cried. “I’ll give you the name of the person who’s running this operation. Balak. He’s hiding out in the main complex.” The Batarian reached to his belt to retrieve something, and Shepard raised his shotgun.

Seeing Shepard preparing to fire, the Batarian decided to move his hand very slowly, showing he wasn’t trying to grab a weapon. Eventually, he produced an OSD. “Here. Those are the coordinates of the main facility and its access codes so you can get inside.”

The pirate tossed it at Shepard, who caught it in his left hand. He looked at it, turning it over in his hand as he did so. Determining that it was probably legit, he then tossed it at Tali suddenly, who barely caught it. She hooked it up to her omnitool, scanning through its contents. “He’s telling the truth, commander. The access codes for the facility are right here,” she said as she scrolled through the files. Tali felt a sense of relief. No one else would die, at least for now. Yes, she knew these were pirates. But she didn’t believe every conflict needed to end in death and destruction. Shepard got what he wanted, and the Batarians got what they wanted. She allowed herself to take a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “The facility is a click further south.”

* * *

Wrex sat on a crate, waiting for Garrus to finish hacking the computer. “What’s taking so long, turian,” he spat. He’d begrudgingly have to work with this pyjack; his people deployed the genophage, a crime he would never forgive.

“You know, not everything is as easy as it looks, Wrex. Why, do you want to give it a try?” Garrus grumbled.

Wrex roared back, baring his teeth. “No! I’m fine. Now finish your work so we can get out of here.”

Garrus was getting frustrated. Between the complex computer system and the krogan nagging him, he’d made very little progress. Garrus got up and unhooked a grenade from his belt. “What are you going to do, throw it at me?” Wrex mocked him.

Garrus juggled it in his hand. “I wish, but sadly no. In either case, if we don’t leave this room, I am afraid you will end up dead.”

Wrex got up from his crate, a little annoyed. It wasn’t the most comfortable seat in the world, but it sure beats standing while being bored out of your mind. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Garrus shook his head. “Well I can’t exactly crack this thing,” he admitted. “So, I thought I’d try the explosive option.”

Wrex waved Garrus off. “Step aside, turian. Let me show you how it's done. The krogan way!” he bellowed. He took his assault rifle and began to fire at the control panel. Sparks began to fly, and the system shorted out, but Wrex didn’t stop until his rifle overheated and its muzzle was bright red. “There!” he said with pride.

The quiet roar of the fusion torch that was in the background began to intensify, and the ground began to shake. “What did you just do?” Garrus demanded.

“Your job,” Wrex replied.

Garrus put his head in his hands. “That thing is going to blow up now!”

“It was your plan!” Wrex argued.

“But not like this!” Garrus cried as he pointed his hand to the mess of circuitry. An explosion rocked the floor. “Fuck this!” He jumped over the railing, landing on the first level. He’d have to run as fast as possible if he was going to escape the explosion.

“Hey, where are you going?” Wrex asked, hopping after the turian.

He didn’t stop to answer as he smashed the emergency override button on the airlock. All the air rushed behind him, trying to escape out into the vacuum. Garrus, Wrex, and a bunch of crates were pushed against one wall and gradually dragged outside. Garrus scrambled to his feet and tried running as fast as possible, forgetting they were in zero-g. He hopped away from the facility, desperate to escape the blast. Wrex followed, although not as nimbly.

Garrus felt the force of another explosion. “I hate you,” Garrus roared as he looked back to see the fusion torch. It was still burning, even as balls of fire ejected out from its sides and huge metal chunks began to fall off.

“The feeling is mutual, tur…” Wrex tried to say, but the fusion torch imploded, sending out a shockwave of energy. The two soldiers were sent flying high into the sky by the force of the blast. Garrus looked down below him. This would be a rough landing.

* * *

The roar of the torch gradually subsided and then went away altogether. Alenko dusted off his hands, signaling that his work was complete.

“Well, that was fast,” Ashley commented.

“I’m good at what I do,” Alenko replied. Yes, maybe he was showing off just a little, but sentinels never got much respect in the army. Soldiers always looked down on them for having the lowest kill counts. But now was his time to shine. He didn’t need a big gun to get the job done.

Ashley approached the control panel. “Why is that light blinking?” Ashley asked. Kaiden turned around, unsure of what she was talking about.

“Huh. That wasn’t there before. Looks like one of the fusion torches has suffered a critical failure.”

Williams shook her head, although she was smiling. “Shepard?” she asked.

Alenko looked back at the readout. “Surprisingly, no. It looks like it was Garrus and Wrex’s fusion torch.” _Well, that’s a little surprising,_ he thought.

Williams hailed Garrus over the comms. “Team two, you still with us? What the hell happened?” she asked.

Garrus was still lying on the ground, a little too tired to move. “We’re fine. Except, Wrex here had other ways of destroying the fusion torched.”

Wrex overheard Garrus’ conversation and chimed in. “Well, if this turian knew how to do his…” he began to scream into the comm. The next thing Williams heard was a loud metallic clang. Wrex roared, and Ashley was sure she’d have ear damage.

“Fuck you…” one of the two began to say before she turned off the conversation.

Alenko looked at her, waiting for the news. “They’re fine,” she sighed. Well, not really, but at least they weren’t dead, and the fusion torch was destroyed. Now, all that remained was Shepard’s fusion torch.

* * *

“Thanks for that,” Shepard said through gritted teeth.

Tali heard his tone, and her blood ran cold. He wasn’t going to let them live, was he. She watched Shepard throw a wall of biotic energy at the pirates, knocking them off their feet. He quickly closed the distance and fired his shotgun at point-blank range into the faces of two of the mercenaries. He grabbed the last Batarian, the apparent leader, and picked him up off of the floor in a feat of superhuman strength.

“You lied, human! You’re just as bad as every other member of your race!” the Batarian yelled as he tried to kick Shepard in the chest to no avail. Shepard slammed him back into the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

The Batarian struggled to breathe as he crawled away from Shepard. “Your exactly like the Butcher,” the Batarian sputtered. “Are all humans… like that?” he asked, defeat in his voice. Shepard took off his helmet, placing it on one of the crates.

“No. Just the one,” Shepard stated cynically. The Batarian looked at Shepard’s face, recognizing him. Every Batarian knew that face. It was the face of death. He renewed his attempts to crawl away, but Shepard stepped on his leg, stopping him.

“One day, the sons and daughters of Torfan will be avenged,” he gasped.

Shepard paused when he heard the name. Hearing it brought out all the worst feelings and emotions inside of him: anger, hatred, regret. But above them all, one dominated: a deep sadness. For his own life, the ones he had taken, and the one he was about to take.

“They will be,” Shepard agreed as his arms wrapped around the batarian’s neck and head. “But that day hasn’t come yet,” Shepard whispered into his ear. In one swift motion, he twisted the batarian’s neck, breaking it. He let the body fall to the floor.

The room was quiet for a couple of seconds. Shepard sat there, on his knees, surveying his work. “Is…is it done?” Tali asked, looking away from Shepard. She didn’t want to see him execute three people in cold blood; no one wanted to see that. Sure, someone might tell her that she should have had her gun raised in case Shepard needed help. But they would be mistaken because they simply didn’t know who they were talking about.

“Yes,” Shepard replied quietly. He stood up, hauling the bodies to the side to clear a path to the control room. “Come on, let’s finish this,” he said as he grabbed his helmet and placed it back on his head. The red skull painted on its face stared at her.

She followed him, her eyes on the rafters instead of the floor. It was her habit to look at the floor when she was nervous or scared. But she knew what she would see if she did: blood and dead bodies; neither would make her feel any more comfortable. She’d seen dead bodies before, either from Saren’s men that had hunted her down, or the bodies down below. She thought she’d gotten used to it, but it was so much different when it was cold-blooded murder.

She opened the door to the room and approached the control panel. Shepard just leaned against a wall, his arms wrapped around his chest; almost as if he was hugging and trying to comfort himself. She easily bypassed the lock the pirates had put on the controls. As she worked, she gained the courage to ask a question: “Why did he call you Butcher?” she asked in a quiet voice, almost whispering.

Shepard’s head moved to look at her. Even though he had his helmet on, she felt his eyes burrowing into her. She quickly returned to her work; she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer anymore. Besides, he never liked talking about his past. She didn’t know why she bothered. The room stayed quiet.

Eventually, she completed her job, and the hum of the engines gradually subsided. They had completed their mission. “It’s done,” she said.

Shepard uncrossed his arms and turned to leave. “Good work. But we aren’t finished yet,” he told her.

The orbs of light behind her helmet, the only thing Shepard could see about her face, enlarged. He assumed the unasked question, and he would answer it. “I’m going to find Balak. And kill him. You can regroup with the others if you want. I won’t hold it against you,” he said somberly.

Tali took a second to answer. Waiting here, all alone? Fat chance. Even then, she wouldn’t leave someone behind like that. It was just wrong, and her father would never approve. “No commander, I’ll stay.”

He activated his comm unit; “Status report! Are the torches disabled?” he demanded.

“Affirmative. Torches one and two are down without casualty’s,” Alenko replied. “Should I radio the Normandy for pickup?” he asked.

“Belay that, Lieutenant. There’s still a pirate stronghold at the main facility. Tali will send the coordinates.”

Alenko sighed before turning back to the conversation. “Should we meet up at your location before assaulting the compound?” he asked.

“Negative,” Shepard replied. “I can’t let them get away.” He was walking down the staircase. One of the pirate’s bodies still lay at its base.

“Commander…Shepard, that’s a suicide mission. You and Tali could die,” Alenko argued. “You should wait for the rest of the team.”

Shepard sighed. He wouldn’t let the pirates get away while they were so close. They would pay. “I know that, Lieutenant,” Shepard replied. “I gave her the option to rendezvous with you guys, but she declined.”

“Inform the others of our situation. I’ll see you later,” Shepard added. Alenko hated his job.

* * *

Shepard climbed the last step up the hill. He could see the main complex down below. He dropped to his stomach and equipped his sniper rifle. He scanned the valley, spotting several of Balak’s men. He looked behind him and saw that Tali was still climbing the slope. Perfect, she was out of the firing line. He returned back to his sniper and homed in on a trio of pirates. Their beige armor easily contrasted against the blue metallic rock of the surface.

He lined up the shot and began to breathe deeply. Then, he stopped breathing and felt his heartbeat. Lub. Dub. Lub. Dub. Lub **.** Shepard took the shot, hitting the pirate right in the chest. His friends ran for cover, but Shepard stopped them both, placing the two shots in quick succession.

A sniper round hit a few feet to his left, but Shepard caught the muzzle flash. He found the opposing sniper and easily dispatched him. By now, the remaining pirates jumped for the door. Shepard shot one in the thigh, but he managed to crawl through the doors before they closed. Damn it. He put away his sniper and turned over.

Still on his back, he said “Here’s the plan. We need to get to that door. We’re going to have to get down this slope quickly and run for it. I don’t think there’re are any more snipers out here.”

_How reassuring._ Tali simply nodded her head. That wasn’t a plan, but she didn’t have a better one. Shepard got up slide down the slope, creating a trail of dust in the air. Tali followed close behind, and they made their way towards the entrance. Even in this situation, where she felt so out of her comfort zone, Tali felt a small amount of pride in herself: Shepard was following her advice about moving in this environment. Still, it provided little comfort to her. Soon, they would enter the complex and face Ancestors’ know how many pirates.

Shepard got to the door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. “Damn it,” he told himself. He turned to Tali, desperate. He needed to get inside and put Balak to justice. “Do you think you can open it?” he asked.

Without a word, Tali approached the lock. Shepard took to fighting the wall of the facility, punching it mercilessly with his fists, trying to ease his anticipation. She cracked the lock's software, and with a wave of her hand, the door opened. Shepard disengaged from the wall of the facility and walked through the door, shotgun in hand. Tali took a step back to see the marks Shepard had left. Big dents and scrapes of black paint marred the wall. She turned away and followed Shepard inside the facility.

After clearing the airlock, they walked into a hallway. It was dark and silent. Either way, Shepard knew somebody was in this room. He took another two steps forward and was jumped by a pirate, knocking his shotgun away. He grabbed the pirate’s arm, twisted it over his back, and threw him to the ground over his shoulder. He lifted his leg and then brought it down on the pirates head several times, leaving a bloody, oozing mess of shattered skull bones and chunks of brain. He picked up his shotgun and continued through the facility. Tali stepped over the broken body, not giving it a second glance.

The dark room ended in the opening to a vast cavern. Immediately, his position was pelted with gunfire, and he jumped behind a column. Tali followed suit, crawling on the floor to stay out of the line of fire. Shepard peaked around the column, analyzing the situation. Three drones were flying in the center of the room, their machine guns rotating menacingly although they were no longer firing. Two groups of pirates were approaching from either side of the elevated walkway, and a third was approaching down the center of the room.

“Tali, take those drones out of the sky. I’ll deal with the pirates. Stay here,” ordered Shepard.

“Ok,” Tali replied. Shepard stayed low to the ground, using the railing for cover against the drones, and began to charge the pirates coming from their left. Most of the shots were stopped by his shields, but a warning blared in his helmet: the shields were being depleted rapidly. He fired three shots into the group, spraying them with led, before he rammed them like a wrecking ball, sending them sprawling to the floor. The drone stopped firing, not wanting to hit allied units. _Perfect._ He grabbed a grenade from his belt, tossed it into the middle of the group, and jumped over the side of the railing, landing on the main floor below. An explosion went off, killing or mortally wounding the pirates.

The drone focused on his position again and fired at him. He sprinted for cover behind a support column, but not before his shields broke. “Tali,” he yelled into the comm, “I’m pinned down. Take down those drones!”

“Almost finished here,” commander. 79% root control on one of the drones, and that number continued to climb. _Come on, come on you stupid Bluewire, 98, 99, 100._ She now had full control. The commander had said to crash it, but she had another idea. The pirates on the right were steadily approaching her position, and she trained the drone to fire on them. “Take that, you boshtets” she cheered as their bodies hit the floor. She suddenly felt guilty, but the adrenaline of combat would make anyone cheer at killing a rival.

She trained the drone on its fellow autonomous friends and blew them out of the sky. All that was left were the band of pirates facing off against Shepard. She could see him on the platform below. The pirates continued to advance on his position, closer and closer. Shepard barely had time to peak over, fire a shot, and duck back down. Tali turned the drone to face the pirates and activated its cannon again. The pirates were mowed down.

Shepard lay on the floor with his back against the wall. “You cut that too close,” Shepard told her over the comm.

“You’re alive, aren’t you,” she replied back as she ran down the staircase to his position. “You alright?” she asked.

Shepard grabbed his shotgun and got up from the floor. He had a job to finish. “Come on,” he told her as he ran to the end of the room. He didn’t think Balak would stay long after his forces had been defeated.

Shepard saw one office in particular with the lights on. _There._ As he got closer, he could see a human sitting in the chair. Shepard kicked down the door, only to see a Batarian grab the man by the neck and hold a gun to his head. “Oh, I don’t think so, commander.”

Shepard roared: “You think a fucking hostage is going to stop me! Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

Balak offered a venomous smile before replying. “Of course I know who you are: Butcher. You know, when I attacked this asteroid, I never expected you of all people to arrive,” he chided.

“Put him down, and who knows, maybe I’ll kill you quickly,” Shepard replied through gritted teeth.

Balak laughed again. “That’s not going to happen, human. Not unless you want to kill dozens of innocent people.”

Shepard looked around, searching for the others Balak was talking about. “What?”

“There are several rooms, all with several hostages. Each has a bomb. A bomb that will detonate unless I leave here alive,” Balak explained.

“You think I’m dumb. You don’t even have a trigger in your hand,” Shepard taunted.

“I AM THE TRIGGER, BOY!” Balak bellowed. “If my heart stops beating, this place is going to explode. Now back away from the exit.”

He wasn’t sure if the deaths were worth one pirate. At any rate, he needed more time to think. Shepard backed away from the door, giving Balak room to leave. As soon as Balak was out, he tossed the hostage to the floor. “You won’t leave alive,” Shepard yelled. “I will find you!”

“Don’t you understand, human,” Balak replied as he slowly backed away. “You’ve lost.”

Tali tried to help Balak’s former hostage, but Shepard kept his gun fixed on the terrorist.

“Why do this?” Shepard asked. “What do you gain?”

Balak spread his arms. “You humans, always encroaching on Batarian space. Taking our land and our resources as our people starve. And all the council does is sit there, doing nothing!”

Shepard scoffed back at him. “It’s not our fault that you assholes are always raiding planets!”

Balak, in his hubris, decided to taunt Shepard. He controlled this situation, after all. No human would sacrifice so many just for one pirate, even the Butcher. Lucky he took human hostages because he was sure that if they were any other species, he would have been dead already. “You take our planets and expect us just to sit there?” Balak demanded. “It’s because of inconsiderate humans like you that I burned and enslaved world after world under my command.”

Behind the helmet, Shepard’s eyes burned with intense hatred. The embodiment of his enemy stood before him, and Shepard couldn’t kill him because of a few hostages? Shepard would play Balak’s little game and hope he’d slip up, to give an excuse to kill him. “Were you responsible for Mindoir, too?” Shepard asked in a mocking voice. In reality, he wanted to scream that question at the top of his lungs until his voice went hoarse, but he needed to find answers.

Balak smiled; he enjoyed inflicting just as much pain on the commander as his people had been dealt. However, he had made one critical error: know your enemy. But he didn’t. “My men rounded up so many slaves. One of the best days of my life I would say,” Balak taunted. “And you **will do** nothing about it because you **can do** nothing.”

Shepard started to laugh, and his arms dropped to his side. Misguidedly, Balak was relieved to have the shotgun pointed away from him. “It…it was you… it was you this entire… time,” Shepard stated in between sporadic, wholehearted laughs.

“I knew you were fucked up in the head. What’s so funny, Butcher?” Balak responded. He was unsure of how to deal with the situation, other than to continue walking backward.

Shepard renewed his question while a single tear streamed down his face; because even under the mask of horrors that he wore, he was just an afraid little kid. “It was you who I was searching for,” Shepard cried. He began to walk forward, stumbling like a zombie, too angry to even move his limbs properly. “IT WAS YOU WHO TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!”

The man behind him screamed. “No, please! You can’t. The hostages will die!” But his pleas fell on death ears.

“What does it mean to you, butcher?” Balak said. He quickly realized he had overplayed his hand. He turned his back and decided to start running.

“I. HATE. YOUUUUUU!!!” Shepard roared. A biotic bubble formed, energy crackling in the air around him.

The hostage pleaded one last time. “Please, you can’t, there are so many people…” he begged. Again, Shepard did not hear him, rage overriding his senses. He was about to live the moment he had been waiting for, even fantasized for, since joining the alliance. Tali just stood there, in shock. “Shepard, you’re going to kill…” she tried to say but it was too late.

Shepard, propelled by his biotics, charged Balak, knocking him to the ground. He tossed his shotgun to the side and smashed his fists together. “I’LL KILL YOU,” he roared; a deep, guttural howl of agony. Shepard jumped into the air and brought his fist down on Balak’s chest, cracking the armor. Balak tried to fight back, but Shepard just picked his entire body up, held it over his head for a brief second, and slammed him down on his knee, breaking Balak’s back.

Shepard let him drop to the floor. Balak tried to crawl away, but each time he moved, he was plunged into immeasurable pain. He had gravely overstepped, and now he was going to die here, bombs or not. He realized his mistake too late: “You’re a survivor, aren’t you?” he asked in a broken voice.

Shepard’s reply was another scream of pure rage. He was an animal, any semblance of control having left his body. He brought both of his arms above his head and slammed then down on Balak again. The crack of his ribs was audible. Shepard punched his face into a bloody pulp. Balak was dying, but he wasn’t dead yet. Shepard grabbed Balak’s neck and tore out his vocal cords; as if that wasn’t enough, he went back and started ripping soft flesh out until the only thing really connecting Balak’s neck to his body was his already broken spinal cord. Shepard was covered in gore, his hand most of all.

Explosions started to rock the facility. Tali tried to get the hostage to safety, (to be fair, where was safety?), but he shoved her off. “You’ve killed us all, you fool,” he said. Kate, who he’d promised to protect, along with all the other engineers, was dead. He just stood there, a shell of the man he once was.

Shepard stood over Balak’s body, silent; his shoulders rising and falling in obvious anger. “Shepard,” she yelled, trying to be heard over the noise. “We need to get out of here.” But it was like he hadn’t even heard her. He just stood there, tears streaming down his face, invisible to the world. The meaning that had animated his life for so long was gone, and his world, like the building around him, was slowly starting to crash down.

A chunk of concrete and steel fell from the ceiling, landing with a loud crash. She wanted to run out of here and leave Shepard behind to die in this place. But she wasn’t as heartless and cold as he was; and that was the difference between them. She grabbed his arm and started tugging him towards the exit, all the while screaming his name in a vain attempt to bring him back to reality. His mind was still wrapped up in all that had happened, but a small portion of the soldier within him realized the danger he was in and followed Tali. He ran towards the way they’d come in, running up the staircase and through the dark hallway. Tali stopped at the top of the stairs, trying one last time to beckon the last survivor of this place to escape, even as dust and bits of concrete continued to rain down on top of them. He simply held up his hand to her, almost as if telling her to stop. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and then he turned away from her. He wanted to die here, and there was nothing she could do about it. And with that, she followed Shepard out of the complex.

* * *

The rest of the Normandy crew arrived at the top of the hill overlooking the outpost. “Yep, that’s the place,” Kaiden said as he looked at the map on his omnitool and the coordinates they had been given.

The ground suddenly shook from a loud explosion; they could all feel the trembling in their feet. “Are they still in there?” Ashley asked, concerned more for the poor quarian than for Shepard. She was sure whatever danger they were in was mostly Shepard’s fault anyway.

“No idea,” Kaiden replied. He tried hailing them on the comms to no avail. His face turned into a grimace. He sighed before replying: “The explosions might be interfering with the signal. I can’t reach them.”

Not wanting to approach an explosion, they remained on the hill, waiting for any sign of good, or bad, news. Eventually, the building imploded under its own weight, the destroyed support columns not being able to hold up the structure; but not before two tiny figures appeared in the distance. Garrus pointed his sniper rifle at them, using the scope to see who it was. “They got out,” Garrus said as he watched Shepard sink to his knees, and eventually, collapse outright on the ground. “But I think Shepard needs help.”

The team breathed a sigh of relief that Shepard and Tali had gotten out. “Kaiden here,” he said as he contacted the Normandy, “we’re going to need pickup at our location. And inform Dr. Chakwas of a possible injury.”

“Copy that, coming to pick you up,” Joker replied. “Did you stop the asteroid, though?” He just had to ask.

Kaiden laughed a little. “Yes, Joker, yes we did.” _But at what cost?_ he had to ask himself. Only the commander could tell them the answer, or maybe Tali. But he wanted to know what had gone down inside that building.


	27. Radical Freedom

The commander had gotten on board the Normandy without saying a word. He walked slowly, each movement unfolding in an eternity as he had stumbled towards the elevator. Alenko asked for a status report, to which Shepard’s only reply was “mission…completed. Finally,” spoken in a quiet, hollow voice. Most of the team was celebrating, and Alenko couldn’t deny that he was in a good mood too; they had just stopped an asteroid from wiping out the planet below. But the waves of emotion that washed off Shepard were too noticeable.

“What’s next?” Alenko asked as the elevator door began to close. “I… I don’t know,” Shepard responded, each syllable being drawn out as if speaking were an impediment to him.

Alenko nodded his head. “Should I just tell Joker to park the ship for now?”

“Sure…” Shepard replied.

* * *

A person is more than an object. And by object one means a pencil or a gun; for us, the pencil is a pencil, and the gun is a gun, no more and no less. You cannot add to its ontological definition. But how does one define a person? It becomes the chief goal of our existence to do so, to stamp the meaning of our essential being, in permanence, just like we would do with a pencil or gun. However, people are not objects, and no matter how much we want to, we can never see ourselves as a “thing.” For there is another layer in people that is hidden from us, sometimes even hidden from the owner, that gives them definition: the mind and soul. Still, we find it difficult to define this metaphysical presence. Sure, one can say that they are a good person, or a bad person, but does this truly some up the existence of a constantly changing being? Using adjectives is meaningless. The simple fact of the matter is that it is impossible to define what a person truly is; their essence is hidden.

We delude ourselves if we believe that defining our own existence can be accomplished by the adjective; how can a static, permanent word, define an ever changing and developing person? We cannot tell what something is if we depend on the singular instant; it would be like using a single frame from a movie to rate its cinematic worthiness; it’s simply impossible. What separates us from the object is that we can never just be; we are always doing something, achieving something, working towards something. Could you honestly ever believe yourself not doing something and just existing as a rock would? No. Once we set up our goal and achieve it, it is never enough. The individual always strives for more, the next step on the ladder. It is so that we can define the individual by their projects and goals. Not what is the person, but how they go about achieving things. Not the adjective, but how they react to the world around them. We can understand the individual as an agent of change alone because this is where the soul intersects with the world. In no other place does it touch or change reality.

But there is a flaw in this existence and in always wanting more. If the person is to define themselves by the goals they set and what they strive to achieve, we must set a goal at the terminus of the last one. We must constantly be in motion, interacting with the world as we go about, to give ourselves meaning. This is the curse of our existence: happiness is a fleeting moment that’s only achievable at the instant of success. The second after that, it deludes us, runs away from us, and we must again chase it. Human beings are like that, racing after one goal or another in the hopes of personal satisfaction; and then we do it all again. Does anyone feel happy after the achievement of a goal? Maybe only for 15 seconds. Then, it is only a memory and we are again empty.

Shepard found himself in a similar dilemma. He made it his goal to avenge his parents. And then he did. Now what does he do? Stop existing and sit in the chair to rot away his days? No! He must again fill the empty void. It was the source of terrible confusion and anguish for him. He had achieved what he so desperately wanted to do, and now it was nothing more than a memory. It is unfortunate that our evils do not leave our consciousness like our good works do. Shame follows you, throughout your life; it is not something you can just table away, or that leaves like fleeting happiness does. This manifested in another problem of anguish for John. The feeling of accomplishment had long ago passed, but the feeling of despair and regret did not. All his mistake, from the smallest infraction to the largest atrocities, never left him. They stayed with him; he carried them every day, and he would for the rest of his life. And in this, we can see what truly defines the individual. It is not a describable object like a rock, nor a word like an adjective, nor a fleeting action that fades in significance after its completion. What defines the individual is what always stays with them, grafted to their very core: our deepest regrets, our failed dreams, our mistakes, our fears, our pains, and our shame. These negatories stay with the person, permanently influencing actions throughout their life because one is afraid of how they will appear to the other.

For John, when the metaphorical crutches that had held up his existence, his goals and aspirations, were kicked out from under him after their completion, he was dragged to the floor by everything that remained: the mistakes. In very real terms, he just lay on the floor of his cabin, sobbing, asking himself: _now what?_

Shepard did not have the energy to move, and he didn’t want to either. He couldn’t understand: why wasn’t he happy? Today was a moment he’d been looking forward to and hoping for since he was a little boy. And now that he had completed his goal, which had taken almost the first three decades of his life, he was just as empty as when he had started. He was supposed to be happy, the one final piece that would make him be a normal person, like you and I. But he still wasn’t. He had failed. He had endured pain and suffering, both of his body and his mind, so he could achieve what he had been looking for. And this is what truly hurt the most. Not the pain of existence that he had endured to achieve his goal, but the fact that it had all been for naught. He wanted nothing more than to dissolve into mush.

Shepard had no one to pick him up off the floor, dust off his shoulders, and tell him everything was going to be alright. He silently wailed again at this thought. Why was the universe so cruel? Why should he be the one to suffer alone, hated and reviled? Here, one can see the irony of ephemerality. He did not want to form attachments because he was afraid of them being taken away, which had so often happened to him; but humans are social creatures, not made to exist alone. He wanted something he knew would bring him pain. _No,_ he told himself, _just keep going._ But he had to ask himself where he would go and what he would do?

Shepard closed his bloodshot eyes, unable to hold them open any longer. Images flashed through his mind, taunting him with all the things he had done. He was being tormented, even when all he wanted to do was rest. Existence was constant pain. _WHY?_ He slowly dragged his body to his desk and tried to climb it. He was too defeated to use his legs, which remained motionless, as if he were a cripple. He blindly groped his desk, knocking things over or onto the floor in the process. His hand wrapped around what he was looking for: the thresher maw mandible. Its sharp, abraded surface felt rough in his hands as he caressed it, feeling every contour. Each slight deformity had a story of its own, one that only this mandible knew; like the mandible, Shepard was also littered with deformities and scars, and he knew the story of every single one. He squeezed the mandible in his hands, its sharp edges piercing even his rough skin, causing streams of blood to flow onto the floor. The pain was the only thing that assured Shepard that he wasn’t in a nightmare, and that his agony was very much real.

* * *

“What happened in there?” Alenko asked her. It was 2 in the afternoon on the ship, and although most were tired, it was impossible to sleep after the day’s events. She was replacing some bad circuit breakers on deck two’s electrical panel. Having already finished her work, she closed the panel’s door and picked up her supply bag, putting it over her shoulder.

In response to Kaiden’s question, she just shook her head. She wasn’t sure she could retell all that had happened in the adrenaline of combat. Now that she thought about it, she was sure that was the only thing that had kept her moving on that asteroid. “I…it’s not my place to say,” Tali finally responded.

Kaiden, however, was not taking no for an answer. “Sure, I can understand that,” Kaiden said, “but I’m asking as your superior.”

Tali’s eyes widened in surprise. Had she done something wrong? “Oh, of course. I didn’t mean to…” she began to say, only to be cut off by Kaiden.

“It’s fine, Tali. It’s just the commander didn’t look so good when he returned, and he hasn’t left his room in hours,” he said. He hadn’t even held the customary debriefing after the mission, nor given Joker a destination to head to.

Kaiden motioned for Tali to take a seat at the table. She put her bag down carefully, not wanting to damage to contents inside nor the table. She pulled out a chair and sat down, Kaiden mirroring her on the opposite side. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and she nervously squeezed them. “What happened in the main complex?” he asked simply. He knew it had been a mistake to let the commander go there without the rest of the team; not so much for Shepard’s safety, but for those he would encounter.

Tali tried to recall what had happened, but the memories were all fuzzy from the stresses of combat. So she began with what she could remember clearly, which was naturally the worst things she could remember. “The pirate leader named Balak had taken dozens of hostages,”

When Alenko heard this, he felt sick to his stomach. How many people had died, buried under that building? He knew they had died because known had returned with them.

“and tried to use them as leverage to escape,” she explained.

Alenko balled one of his hands into a fist, angry; angry that Shepard could let all those people die; angry that he couldn’t stop Shepard; angry that he hadn’t tried harder. “I’m guessing Balak’s plan didn’t work,” he said soberly.

Tali shook her head, confusing Alenko. “In the beginning, it looked like Shepard was going to let him go,” Tali explained, “but…but something happened.”

_Something happened with Shepard? No surprise there._

Tali continued with her story. “They started arguing and yelling at each other. About humans and Batarians, I mean.” But there were still things she didn’t understand about all that had happened. “Can I ask you a question, before we continue?”

Kaiden nodded his head. He didn’t appreciate the interruption, but she was doing him a favor. “Go ahead,” he said.

Tali tried to remember the name of the planet. _Mindy. No. Minder. Yes, I think that’s it._ “What does, um, Minder, mean to Shepard?” she asked.

Kaiden’s eyes narrowed, suddenly on guard. Even though she had mispronounced it, he knew what she was alluding to. Alenko did not like the commander. He was reckless and misguided; most of all, he never thought about other people. However, that was the difference between Kaiden and most people, and Shepard. Empathy. “Where did you hear that name?” Kaiden asked in a low voice.

Tali took a moment to collect her thoughts, trying to remember what happened through the haziness. “It’s what sent him over the edge, what made him kill Balak,” she whispered back.

Kaiden slowly started to put the pieces together, and as they fell into place, a fuller picture of the situation revealed itself to him. “Balak was responsible, wasn’t he?” Kaiden asked. Tali only nodded her head in response.

“Oh my…” Kaiden stammered, standing up from his chair, his hands over his mouth. _Shepard found him._ “Holy shit.”

Tali continued to sit in her chair, still confused. It was not a question of what Balak had done, the pirate had convicted himself of that already; it was rather a question of how it related to Shepard. Kaiden paced the deck, still in disbelief. Shepard had killed dozens of people all to satiate his revenge. Kaiden was once again reminded of how grateful he was not to be in Shepard’s shoes. He returned back to the table, taking a seat once again.

Tali’s questioned remain unanswered. If anything, Kaiden’s reaction made her even more curious. She renewed her attempt at pressing for the information: “Why was Shepard so upset about it?” she asked.

Kaiden took a deep breath. “Have you ever wondered why the Commander is the way he is, does the things that he does?” he asked. Kaiden’s question made her remember how Shepard had brutally murdered the three pirates at the fusion torch. Just the memory of it made her stomach turn. “Shepard was born on Mindoir. He was young when pirate slavers attacked, and he was one of the only survivors.”

“Did his parents…”

“No,” Kaiden replied before she could even finish the question. “He was an orphan, without any family.” Despite his deep dislike of the commander, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. All the things that Shepard had done were inexcusable. But that didn’t mean the things that had happened to Shepard didn’t make him sad. It would make anyone feel sympathy.

Tali was reminded of the children in the fleet whose parents had died in space accidents. Those fateful nights, when the constables would come to sit families down, and inform them of terrible news, always saddened her. It made her afraid that one day, that might happen to her. And then one day, it had. She remembered the loss of her own mother, and how she and her father grieved for weeks afterward. She recovered, eventually; but her father never did. In some ways, he even reminded her of Shepard: absorbed in his work and pushing people to the side. At least on the flotilla, she always had friends to look after her; she didn’t know what she would have done without Auntie Raun. She was there when her father retreated to his research.

But Shepard was a human! One of the most ambitious and creative species in the Milky Way. In a few short decades, they had built a vast army, warded off the turians, and expanded into the galaxy like no other race before or since. Surely they could have taken care of one of their own. “So, he was adopted?” she asked hopefully, even though she had a bad feeling about it.

Kaiden again responded with a resounding “no”. Kaiden was getting uncomfortable talking about the commander’s past behind his back. But Tali deserved to know who she was taking orders from. “He wasn’t so lucky. From what I heard, he grew up alone on the streets.”

“Oh,” Tali mouthed, in disbelief. That would never have happened to a quarian child, never in a million years.

“Rumor has it he was a part of a gang, but nobody knows for sure. Only he does,” Kaiden said as he pointed towards Shepard’s quarters.

“What’s a gang?” she asked. She had the feeling that she needed to update her translator software. These communication slipups were happening all too often to her.

Alenko snorted. _I guess they wouldn’t have those on ships,_ he surmised. “Uh… like a criminal. Although, as I said, it’s all speculation,” he added. But if he was going to be honest with himself, he could definitely see Shepard having been one. Where else would someone learn to be so ruthless?

The conversation ended, and Kaiden and Tali just sat at the table, a quiet understanding having been reached: they no longer wanted to talk about this. Kaiden got up, deciding to go get some air on the upper decks. Down here, it was just too dark and gloomy, both from the lights and the conversation. Tali was left sitting at the table, alone and afraid. Eventually, she too got up and left.

* * *

Shepard awoke around seven pm, his omnitool beeping and flashing in his face. He looked at the caller ID: it was Admiral Kahoku. Except, this was his personal line, which was rather informal for him to use. _Why should I even bother answering this?_ he asked himself. Nonetheless, he crudely jabbed his finger on the answer button until the call connected.

“Shepard, thank god you answered!” Kahoku whispered.

Shepard tried to sit up, and finding himself unable to do so, resided to leaning his back against the wall. “What…is…it,” he mumbled as his eyes stared at the ceiling, glazed over.

“I found them, Shepard, I found them!”

“The thresher maw,” he gasped.

“Here, I’m sending the coordinates to your omnitool. They’re responsible for both attacks.”

Shepard’s omnitool chirped as the coordinates were sent over. Shepard was a little bit surprised that Kahoku came through; he never expected to hear from the man again. But here he was. “Who?” he asked simply.

To Kahoku, Shepard sounded different than last time. Whereas before Shepard was strong and confident, he was now barely speaking in little more than whispers and mumbles. But he did not have the time to consider this fact, let alone address it. Soon, he would probably be dead. “Cerberus. They used to be alliance, but they’ve gone rogue for years now. They’re going to try and kill me.”

“Where… are you…admiral?” Shepard said in-between ragged breaths.

“Forget about me. Shepard, you need to stop them. Go to the coordinates and see what you can find. I’m trusting you with…” Kahoku began to say before being cut off. A scuffle could be heard on the other end of the line before it went dead all together.

“Adm…iral,” Shepard croaked in a weak voice, but there was no reply. All he could do was lay there on the floor, helpless to the internal conflict inside his mind.

_They’re responsible for Akuze! They could still have my men, alive, just waiting to be rescued._

_No, they died. They died a long time ago._

_So then I need to avenge them._

_And then what?_

_Then…then I’ll find their leader. And kill him._

_And then what? Why do anything if you will always end up back at square one: the need to kill another person?_

_Because it’s the right thing to do! I can’t let them get away._

_Right, wrong, what’s the difference. We all die._

Shepard slumped back to the ground, lying down, defeated. He laid his arms to rest at his side, hitting the thresher maws mandible by accident. He grasped it in his hand, holding it like a dagger. _Then die for the right reasons._

 _And what are the right reasons?_ he asked. But no reply came.

There are no good reasons to do anything; it is purely subjective. But one will live with their shame for a lifetime. Regret doesn’t leave you until you die. It is a fate worse than death, for it tortures you every passing second in a way a good memory never would.

* * *

Tali and Williams were eating dinner in the mess. The former slowly ate her flavorless meal from the nutrient tube. For a quarian, eating was more like daily maintenance than a craving. You just ate because you were supposed to do so if you wanted to stay healthy. Food had no scent or flavor, nothing to entice the person to eat it other than the will to stay alive. See, that was the other reason you never saw on overweight quarian on the fleet. Even when they actually had food and didn’t have shortages, eating was a chore. Williams, in a similar fashion, wasn’t very interested in her meal either. She mostly just prodded the fried potatoes chunks and green beans with her plastic fork.

“Hey, how you’ve been holding up so far? I know it’s been a hectic couple of days.”

Tali shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, it’s scary, going out there with the possibility of never coming back. It’s not something you think about as a civilian.”

Ashley nodded her head. “Ya, it’s not everything it’s cracked up to be in the media. That’s for sure. But I find it fulfilling. Sense of purpose and something to be proud of.”

“Huh.” Tali remembered her conversation with Shepard, about being a soldier. Williams was noticeably more optimistic than him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Tali replied sadly.

Ashley put down her fork, crossing her arms. “Come on. Spit it out. Unless you did something wrong,” she teased.

“Well, no, it’s just that…uh, not everyone shares your view of being a soldier.”

It quickly dawned on Ashley what Tali was talking about. “Oh, come on. Don’t listen to that man. He’s the last person you want motivation to do anything from.”

Tali and Ashley both started laughing quietly, mostly because it was true, and the way Ashley said it was funny.

Ashley waved her fork in a circle in the air as she began talking again. “So, since you’re new at this soldier business, learn anything while running around with humanity’s spectre?”

Tali considered this for a moment. “Uh…well I think I need to work on my aim,” she said in a slightly elevated tone.

Ashley noticed Tali’s voice and raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear.”

“I’ll just ask the commander later, then,” Ashley threatened.

Tali held her hands up in the air in a sign of surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you,” she conceded. “I kind of, um, well… see the thing is there were these pirate…”

“You’re stumbling all over the place.”

“When I fired, Shepard wasn’t in the way but then he was and then he got hit. It wasn’t my…”

Ashley didn’t even give Tali time to finish her sentence. “You shot the commander?! I’m surprised you’re still with us!”

Tali put her head in her hands. “But it was an accident. I don’t think he noticed it was me.”

Ashley made a show of slowly clapping her hands.

“I don’t understand how you can find this funny,” Tali complained. “I could have killed him!”

Ashley shook her head, her laugh becoming a quiet chuckle. “I’m sure a lot of people have said that over the years. For better or worse, it hasn’t happened.” She took a swig of her drink. “Especially in that new fancy-shmancy armor of his.”

“Where’d he get it?”

Ashley shrugged. “No clue, but I’m 100% sure it is not from the alliance. No way they’d approve that face mask.”

“Well, he is a spectre now. He can break the rules if he wants to,” Tali offered.

Ashley swatted her hand through the air. “Girl you don’t know nothing. He’s been breaking the rules since before becoming a spectre. I’m pretty sure they just don’t care.”

Tali took another bite of her nutrient paste. While it was tasteless, she did need a moment to collect her thoughts. Might as well eat. “What else came in the shipment? Well I mean besides his armor. All those crates can’t be his.”

Ashley stared at Tali in shock. “You didn’t get your stuff yet?”

Tali looked back at her, a little sad. “Well, I’m not a real soldier. I…” she gulped, “didn’t believe he would bother.”

Ashley reached across the table and put her hand on Tali’s shoulder. “How about we go get your stuff after you’re finished. I’m not really hungry anymore anyway.” Ashley should have been more suspicious of the girl. She was basically a vagrant from a species with a terrible reputation; but after meeting her, and seeing the determination and self-reliance she had, Ashley couldn’t help but be reminded of her sister.

“Then we can go now. I’m finished as well,” Tali replied.

The duo got up from the table and placed their trash in the receptacle. They began to walk towards the elevator as they heard the opening of a door behind them. By the time Ashley turned around to see what had caused the noise, the commander was already walking towards their direction, determination in his strides. “Commander,” Ashley saluted.

He didn’t even acknowledge her presence as he continued marching towards them. Upon closer inspection, she could see that his palms were covered in dried blood. “Wait, Shepard. You’re injured,” she tried to say as Shepard walked passed them, but it was no use. She’d seen that wild look in his eyes once or twice before and there was no stopping him.

* * *

Shepard was barely aware of Ashley and Tali as he walked by them. His mind was fully focused on the task at hand. He took the stairs two at a time, and his hand trailed the railing, leaving some dry patches of blood from his injury. Once he reached the command deck, he began to shout orders. “Pressly, plot the fastest possible course to the Yangtze System in the Voyager Cluster. I need to get there: Now!”

Pressley stood at attention at one of the navigation computers. He’d been looking forward to getting off duty at the end of the hour, but that now looked like it wasn’t going to be a possibility. “Yes, sir!”

Shepard continued to walk down the deck, towards the cockpit. He couldn’t see the comm officer from the night before, but he realized she must work the night shift. She wouldn’t be on duty now. “Joker, get underway immediately. Pressley is sending you the route now.”

Joker’s chair rotated around so he could face the commander. “Whoa, wow, didn’t we just like, I don’t know, save a planet from extinction? Thought that we deserved a little break, but I guess not.”

Joker felt a mysterious force surround him, and he turned his head to look around. Gradually, he found himself floating a couple of inches off the chair. He realized it was Shepard. The blue energy emanating from him was a pretty good hint.

“How you return to that chair depends on your next words,” Shepard snarled. “Choose carefully.”

“Alright, alright, I’m on it. Sheesh.” As soon as he was set down on the chair again, his left hand gripped it for dear life. He’d have to fly with his right hand for now, at least while Shepard was here; easy work for him. Joker began making the preparations to leave. He started by hailing traffic control on Terra Nova.

“This is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to undock and leave the system.”

Silence.

“Again. This is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to leave. Terra Nova, please respond.”

“We read you, Normandy. But you’re going to have to wait until we can get someone to confirm your verification. We’ve been on high alert since this morning.”

Joker was about to respond when Shepard jumped in. “This is Council Spectre John Shepard. We are going to be leaving immediately. If you would like to file any complaints, you can send it to the citadel council. Thank you for your cooperation,” Shepard stated with a heavy dose of sarcasm. He leaned over Joker and pressed the button to discontinue the conversation.

“I’m not responsible for that,” Joker complained as his hand’s began to work the controls.

Now, Shepard paced the command deck as he tried to contact Anderson. While he waited for the call to pick up, he was acutely aware of the personnel working around him: monitoring different communication frequencies, watching the radar, helping to plot the course, and a myriad of other functions that Shepard himself could never hope to personally accomplish or understand. He was a dumb grunt, condemned to die on the battlefield. But these people, they were experts in their craft, and unlike Shepard, it produced something productive rather than taking it. Screens flashed with more technical data around him, taunting his ignorance. He was sure that down below in engineering, Adams, Tali, and the rest of the engineering crew were hard at work, ensuring the engines ran at peak efficiency. So much work, all of it focused on the sole pursuit of dragging his sorry ass from one end of the galaxy to the other.

“Shepard!” came Anderson’s voice. “I was planning to call you later tonight to congratulate you, but you beat me to it!”

“Yes, yes, Anderson. Thanks.”

“For a man who just saved an entire planet, you sound rather gloomy. What’s bothering you, son?” Anderson asked with concern in his voice.

Shepard tapped his foot impatiently. “That doesn’t matter.” He truly believed that he didn’t matter. He had utterly convinced himself of this for a long time. So much so that even when one of the only people who knew him asked him the question sincerely, he wrote them off. That’s why he could enter combat with such blind ferocity: a general disregard for his own life of an almost suicidal magnitude.

“Rear Admiral Kahoku has just been kidnapped by Cerberus. Thought the alliance might want to know.” Kahoku’s life would no longer be on his mind. At least Shepard had that off his shoulders.

Anderson was quiet for a moment as the full meaning of Shepard’s words hit him. “I’ll deal with this immediately. Thank you, Shepard,” Anderson replied as the line cut out. Anderson felt guilty; he wanted to talk some more with Shepard, see how he was doing since he’d become a spectre and taken command of the Normandy. But the kidnapping of an admiral would take immediate precedence over an everyday conversation.

Shepard was alone again, even though he was surrounded by people on the command deck. But he was no use to them, not until they reached the Cerberus base. This thought saddened him, even though he was wrong; he just didn’t know it. Everyone on this ship respected him; some even looked up to him as the only hope to find Saren and put a stop to the madness out there. Shepard just refused to believe it; he didn’t want to believe it because he knew that if he did, he might get attached to them, and then when they died, he’d be all alone again, in more pain than before. He had a bad feeling that just his presence put everyone’s life at risk. Death had followed him throughout his years, like a curse. He knew it was only a matter of time now.

* * *

Author's note: I don't know, maybe I put too much philosophy in this chapter. If this is the case, let me know and I'll fix it. I've just always taken a liking to it, and I put my own twist on it. At any rate, I thought it was a good idea to explore thought process after the events of last chapter.


	28. Another Dose for the Addict

Author’s Note: Not all of this chapter is in chronological order, so please follow the time stamps!

* * *

(0400 hours)

One of the great myths of space travel is that your ship would always arrive during waking hours. Unfortunately, that wasn’t always the case. Maybe if you were a civilian on a luxury vacation cruiser, you could sleep overnight. But Shepard was neither a civilian nor had ever gone on a vacation. That would take too many credits from his meager paycheck. Taking time off was of very little concern for him anyway; with no family to visit and nothing outside of the military, why would he ever leave? Doing nothing just gave him time to think, and he hated thinking; it gave him reflective moments that were just too painful. He’d rather just drink until he collapsed for a night, then get back to work. It always numbed the pain. With alcohol, you never had to think; drinking is one of the only times when he could just “be.” He wasn’t a notorious drinker or alcoholic; but if he wasn’t working, poising his body and his mind was a favorite pass time.

Shepard finished putting on his armor. He stood in front of the mirror, holding his helmet at his side, looking at himself. He thought maybe staring into the mirror would let him peer into his soul, find out what he really was and what he should do. He placed the helmet on his head and turned to leave the room, fully encased inside metal and death. It was 4 am, nothing out of the normal for Shepard. He exited his cabin, peering to see if anyone was there. _Damn that quarian._ Tali sat at the mess table, her head in her hands. He watched her, looking for any indication that she was awake; he saw none. He began to quietly walk to the stairs, taking gentle footsteps as opposed to the powerful strides he usually took. The last thing he wanted to do was get stopped by one of the soldiers on the ship. He needed to slip off this floor, quietly.

He got to the staircase and went upstairs to the command deck. It was empty and desolate, a far cry to what he had seen two days before. Only Joker and a comm operator were awake, manning the ship. “Making our final descent now, commander,” Joker informed him. “But are you sure we should be continuing while the full crew is asleep?” It was odd to be entering combat without the ship being on full alert; both of Shepard’s combat team and the flight crew of the Normandy.

Shepard took a deep breath in and sighed. “Yes, joker. I’m sure you can pilot the ship just fine without them anyway.”

Joker chuckled. “Oh, I can pilot my baby just fine. I was talking about your crew, for the most part.” 

Shepard grimaced under his helmet, invisible to Joker. “I don’t need them.”

“Whatever you say, commander,” Joker sighed out loud. “We’ll be at the drop off point in five.”

Shepard just turned around and walked away without saying a word. There was nothing to say.

* * *

(0415 hours)

The Normandy zoomed out of the clouds as its cargo bay began to open. It descended until its bottom deck faced a hill. Shepard watched the rocky landscape get closer and closer to him. Eventually, the Normandy stopped moving altogether. Shepard hopped to the ground. “Normandy, I’ll contact you for pick up when I’m done here.”

“Copy that. Good luck, Shepard.”

Shepard shut off his comm before speaking again. “I don’t need luck.”

Shepard began to trudge up the slope of the hill, planting one foot after the other into its dusty surface, until he reached its peak. He got down on one knee to admire the landscape around him. It was so completely unlike anything he had seen before. The sky was a hazy brown-green, and he could see the planet’s moon looming large in the distance: a blue coin in the sky, only half-lit. Odd wisps and trails of green dotted the air around him, so unlike anything he had seen. The sun was setting too, giving the glassy rock a glistening red appearance. It was beautiful. Oh, what he would give to leave everything behind, set up a little house up here, and live out his days. He would be alone and forgotten, not having to care about the world at all. He looked down at the ground in front of him, suddenly saddened by a revelation: he could never do that.

_Why,_ his mind cried. _What has the galaxy ever given you?_

But that was exactly the point. It hadn’t given him anything; it did the opposite; it had taken things away. He needed to hunt those responsible down, just like he was doing now. Otherwise, he’d be wracked by guilt until the end of his days; and the deep hatred he carried would never leave him knowing that he had just let it all go. The problem was that he could not let go of all he had: his desire for revenge. Even when it broke him. He’d defined his life by it, so much so it eventually became like a drug. Recently, he’d gone into a relapse after killing Balak, but Akuze was giving him another ‘hit’. He stood up, glancing at the view one last time, before turning away. Far into the distance, he could see the facility.

He started his journey, step by step. Maybe if he finished fast enough, he could finish the mission before anyone started asking where he was. The reason he hadn’t brought anybody was that this was his fight. No one else should be getting involved. Especially with what he was about to do.

* * *

(0430 hours)

He hated guard duty. Standing out in this toxic environment was no fun. _Who the fuck is even going to find us here?_ , he thought.

He walked over to his fellow guard. “Why do they always stick us with this?” he asked.

The other guard clapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. I’ve been here way longer than you. Trust me, sitting out here where it’s all quiet is so much better than listening to the screams down there.”

The first guard looked down at the floor, apprehensive. Who exactly had he gotten himself involved with? He joined because he wanted to help humanity. But he wasn’t exactly sure about their methods. “Do you… ever have regrets about what they do?” he asked.

The second guard lightly punched him in the chest. “Knock it off. You’ll get used to it. Now can you stop asking questions?”

“Fine.”

He left his location, wanting to get away from the other man, and headed towards the opposite side of the bunker's entrance. He needed time alone to think. _You know what? Forget about thinking these stupid things._ _Just do your job and help the human race._ He just leaned against the wall for a while, gazing out into the distance.

**POP. POPPOP.** He heard three shots fired in quick succession. He held his assault rifle in his grip, squeezing the handle. “Do you have eyes on the attacker,” he asked the other guard over the comms. No answer. _Maybe this was a prank?_ “Where the hell is he? Are you messing with me?”

He rounded the bunker to meet up with the first guard, only to find him on the floor, bleeding out. He was already dead. Before he had time to react, he was attacked from behind. He tried to shake the assailant off, but eventually, he lost control over his assault rifle. He felt a kick in the back, and he was sent flying forward. He looked behind him, only to see a man in heavy black armor, a skull painted on his faceplate. He got up to run away, but two more shots were fired, and he felt his legs give out as his knee caps were blown. He collapsed to the ground, rolling over on his back. Now, all he could do was to slowly crawl away in retreat. “Please, what do you…”

Shepard fired a shot right into the soldier’s visor, killing him instantly. He tossed the assault rifle to the side. He did not want to hear what this man had to say. He approached the body, searching for the access key to the bunker. As he was ransacking the contents attached to the supply belt, he came across a wallet. _Maybe it’s in there._ He grabbed the wallet, rummaging through its contents. He found what he was looking for, but then he noticed something else. It was a picture, of a smiling man and a woman hugging him. He saw the gaze in their eyes, how they smiled at the camera: they clearly loved each other. Shepard tossed the wallet back onto the body and left towards the entrance. He did not care; if he felt any guilt, it would come later; but he doubted it; this man deserved what was coming to him.

He jogged to the access door, pressed the keycard into the access panel, and stepped inside. The quiet winds were gone now, replaced by the whir of life-support systems and machinery. A guard turned around and saw him. “Hey, you can’t-”

Gore splattered everywhere as Shepard’s shotgun tore the guard’s head off. Another guard started to fire at him, but Shepard lifted him off the ground and sent him flying into the wall. The final guard in the room was speaking into the bases PA system. “Intruder alert. Armed combatant at the front gate. All security personnel-”

Shepard clubbed him over the head with his shotgun, held down the PA system button, and fired twice into the man’s chest. The shots could be heard all throughout the base. They knew he was here anyway; might as well scare them with his ferocity. He walked forward into the hallway; it was now or never. He created a biotic barrier in front of him and marched forward. More Cerberus soldiers tried to fire at him, but their bullets bounced off his barrier. Once one of the soldiers passed through the barrier, Shepard fired his shotgun, gutting them. Seeing this, the others retreated out of the hallway and into the next room. He continued walking forward, unfazed.

Once he exited the hallway and walked into the main room, oldiers sprung out from behind crates on both sides, all pointing weapons at him. “We have you surrounded! Surrender now or we will kill you!”

He scanned the crowd, analyzing their weapons and their armor. Maybe when he first started, like when he was on Akuze, he might have died. But he was not the same man from Akuze. They had made sure of that. He was back to haunt them.

“Surrender?” Shepard laughed. “I’m just getting started.”

* * *

(0500 hours)

A thin veil of smoke clouded the air in the facility. Some small fires burned here or there. Dead bodies littered the floor. Shepard had killed all the soldiers and guards; at least he thought he did. But not without injury. He was leaking blood from his abdomen, where he’d been stabbed by a blade that had slipped between the plates of his armor. The handle had broken off, and the blade remained buried inside him. The suit started to administer medigel, trying to stem the tide from the wound.

He was in the labs now. Vats filled with the fetuses of mysterious creatures lined one of the walls. The several scientists that worked in the room now cowered in the corner as Shepard slowly made is way towards them. He passed through the myriad of science experiments, a world he would never understand.

Eventually, he stood in front of them. “Which one of you is the head researcher?” he asked in a quiet voice, but no one answered. “WHICH ONE OF YOU IS THE HEAD RESEARCHER? ANSWER ME?”

One of the scientists feebly raised their hand. “It’s…it’s mu-mu-me,” he stuttered.

Shepard beckoned him forward with his finger. The scientist took slow, meager steps towards him. When he was in arms reach, Shepard grabbed onto his arm and hauled him closer. “Are you sure you are the head researcher?” he asked.

The man nodded his head, fright in his eyes.

“Good.” Shepard tossed the man to the ground and pointed his assault rifle at the other assembled scientists, spraying the crowd with bullets. They screamed, both in fear from Shepard and in pain from being shot.

“No! What are you doing?” begged the man on the ground, and he tried to tackle Shepard. In response, Shepard paused his fire, kicked the man in the gut several times, and returned to finish his work. Shepard stopped firing, and the room was silent except for the ragged breathing of the head researcher. “What are you…what are you doing?” he gasped.

Shepard dropped his rifle and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to his feet. “You are going to tell me everything I want to know. You are going to tell me the location of your bases. And then you are going to die,” Shepard said in a quiet voice, almost whispering. Despite his volume, the tone in his voice carried his conviction better than if he were yelling. 

“I… I have money,” the doctor cried, reaching into his pocket. “Here. My accounts are on that credit chit. Ten million. Just take it. Just take it all!”

Shepard snatched the credit chit out of the man’s hand. He would still kill this man. But he couldn’t not take the money. It was more than he’d ever managed to save up on meager alliance paychecks. He punched the man in his gut again, dropped him to the floor, and took a seat in one of the lab stools. He bent over to pick up his assault rifle off the ground, and he placed it on the lab bench behind him, carelessly knocking over test tubes and vials.

“You’re going to tell me what I want to know. Everything… I want to know.” He unholstered his pistol from his thigh and pointed it at the man in front of him.

The scientist held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “I…I will answer your questions…just…I don’t want to die.”

“Is Cerberus responsible for the Thresher Maw attacks on alliance soldiers?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Why?” Shepard demanded.

“It was weapons testing. Genetic modification to create living weapons.”

Shepard turned to look at the vats from before. He pointed at them; “is that what those…” he struggled to find the word, “things…are?”  
“Some, yes.”

“What do you mean some?!” Shepard demanded as he fired his gun into the man’s shoulder.

He cried out, in obvious pain. “Rachni, they’re rachni. A long-extinct, insect-like species,” he said in between gasps. Blood stained his white lab coat, and slowly spread outwards from the injury. 

“Akuze. You took my men. What. Happened. TO THEM?” He slammed his fist into the table behind him, destroying more laboratory equipment in the process.

“Testing. Experimentation. It was years ago! But I wasn’t in charge of that! I swear” he cried.

“Lair!” he roared. “What kind of test?” Shepard got up from his chair, enraged, swing his arms around him violently into tables and chairs before returning to the scientist.

“Implants. Mind control. Regeneration. Sometimes,” he gulped, “resurrection.” Even he occasionally felt repulsed by the stories. But he wasn’t responsible. All he did was grow cells in a test tube!

“And did they survive?” Shepard asked, his voice quivering with emotion. Resurrection meant bringing back somebody to life. Sure, maybe they died. But if they were “resurrected” the could still be alive somewhere, floating around in a vat, just waiting for Shepard to find them.

“N-n-no.” Shepard’s shoulders slumped; he had failed again. “Then you are of no further use to me, doctor.”

Shepard pressed the barrel of his pistol into the scientist’s head, preparing to pull the trigger.

“Wait. Just wait. I can still be of use!” he begged.

“How so?” Shepard asked, pressing the barrel even harder into the man’s head. However, the scientist was too afraid to speak, even to save his own life. He picked up the scientist by the collar with both hands, holding him at eye level. “Answer me!”

“I overheard one of the soldiers say that they’d brought in an alliance admiral for questioning.”

_Kahoku, he could still be alive. I haven’t failed yet._ Shepard put down the scientist, letting him stand on his own two feet. “Take me there.”

The scientists slowly led the way out of the dark laboratory and towards the prison block. He stepped over the broken glass of the door and took one last look at his former colleagues. The sharp jab from the gun in his side told him that he would have to keep walking.

* * *

(1215 hours)

“Wha-wha-wha-what. So you’re telling me Shepard went down there, all by himself!” Kaiden asked, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Joker shrugged. “I’m a pilot. I just followed orders and dropped him off. Believe me, it was no fun being awake at four.”

Kaiden sighed. It was now twelve, and they had only just found out where the commander was. Shepard should have contacted the ship by now if his mission was completed, but he had failed to do so. That did not bode well. Initially, nobody had noticed because Shepard rarely left his room anyway. He’d only found out that Shepard had left from one of the nighttime engineers who saw him earlier in full combat armor, jumping out of the cargo hold onto the planet below.

But Joker had an idea. “Let me get the story straight. He never told you or anyone else that he’d left already?”

Alenko nodded his head. “Very odd, and I don’t like it.”

“Well, since he never said anything to you, and he never said I couldn’t drop you off, all you’d need is Pressley’s permission.”

“You know, that just might work,” Alenko replied. “Thank you, Joker.”

_Well, I’m at least glad to know somebody around here appreciates the work I do._

* * *

(0510 hours)

The scientist scanned his keycard against the lock’s interface, but its light turned red. “I, I don’t have access.”

Shepard retrieved the security card he had found earlier and handed it to the scientist. “Try this. Your life very much depends on it,” he added menacingly. His hands trembled as he took the keycard from Shepard, scanning it on the door. He sighed with relief as the lock turned green and the door buzzed, indicating it was open. He handed the keycard back to Shepard, placing it in his outstretched palm.

They walked through the door and into the prison block. Two rows of cells lined the walls. It was very dark, almost too dark, but Shepard could tell that someone occupied the last one. Through the bars, Shepard could see the rough outline of a body. “Admiral, are you there?” Shepard called out, but no response came. “Admiral!” The admiral was tied to a vertical table, arms and legs outstretched, almost as if he was being crucified.

Shepard grabbed the bar door, trying to rip it off its frame, to no avail. Remembering that he had the keycard, he swiped it against the lock and the door flew open. He turned around to the scientist. “Save his life, and then maybe, just maybe I’ll let you live.”

Hearing the promising news, the scientist rushed inside. Crude and bloodied instruments lay on a supply cart. Shepard too noticed this, and his mood darkened. The scientist pressed his finger into the admiral’s neck, checking for a pulse. But touching the admiral’s skin made him nervous at his prospects of saving him: the skin was cold. What made it worse was that with every passing second that he checked for a pulse and none came, he realized with greater certainty that he was going to die.

Shepard grew tired of the scientist’s inaction. Why was he just standing there? “Well, can you save him, doctor?”

The scientist retracted his hand from the admiral’s neck slowly. He turned to face Shepard in order to deliver the bad news, and possibly his death sentence. “Yo-your f-f-f-friend is d-d-d-deed.” Shepard continued to stand in front of him, motionless, almost as if he hadn’t heard the news. The scientist stood there, his hand’s shaking, waiting for the inevitable. There was no way he could overpower the alliance soldier. He looked down at the instruments on the tray which had been used to torture the admiral. He could see both needles filled with sedative and a stimulant. _Oh, they were torturing him like that too_ , he realized. Administering a sedative to put him to sleep, and then injecting him with a stimulant to jolt him awake; with enough doses, you could kill a person from a heart attack. But he suspected that wasn’t Kahoku’s mode of death.

Shepard was breathing rapidly, but no matter how many breathes he took, he felt like he was suffocating. His vision turned spotty and he found it difficult to stand. He’d let Cerberus, after killing all of his men, take another life. He’d been too weak to stop them. He was yet again a failure. Still struggling to breathe with the enormity of the news that he had just heard, he took off his helmet and set it down. He felt like he’d been in a similar situation before. From one of the buried recesses of his mind, he remembered a piece of advice: “ _Just take deep, slow breathes. Breathe through your nose and exhale through your mouth.”_ He listened to the advice and found himself calming down, clarity returning. He remembered what he was planning to do now. Kill this motherfucker. “Well, you’ve been a great help. But if I am going to be perfectly honest, I was never going to let you live either way. This is goodbye.”

However, the scientist had an idea. If he could somehow grab a sedative from the cart and administer it to the commander, he could live. He’d have several hours to get out of here, but that was more than enough.

Shepard began to reach for his pistol, intent on killing the man before him. The scientist jumped for the tranquilizer and jabbed it into Shepard’s neck before he could do anything. He simply hadn’t been expecting it. It enraged him even more than before. “You should have taken the blade!” Shepard roared as he punched the scientist in the face. He grabbed the scientist by the head and began to smash it into the wall again and again. When Shepard was done, the body slumped to the floor, leaking blood from the back of its head. The man was dead.

Shepard stumbled backward, feeling very tired. He felt like he had ice in his veins. His hand suddenly shot to his neck and pulled out the needle. He turned it over in his hands, reading the label even as his vision went fuzzy. ‘Midazolam’ it read, ‘sedative.’ He collapsed to the floor.

* * *

(1230 hours)

The Mako was much too packed with all of them inside, especially the Krogan. Alenko drove them off the ramp and slowly lowered the Mako to the ground with the jets. There was no need for a suicidal drop out here.

“Do you think he’s…” Tali tried to say, unable to finish her sentence.

“No, they couldn’t have killed the tough bastard that fast.” But inside his mind, he didn’t like the odds. If Shepard was alive, he would have made contact by now. No question about it. He just didn’t want to say it out loud.

“I’m not seeing anything, Alenko. Although…yep, Shepard was definitely here. Can you get us to that facility up ahead?” Garrus asked. He was manning the main gun and had used its sights to scan the area around them.

“Sure thing. What’d you see?”

“Dead bodies.”

“Fitting.”

* * *

[1700 hours]

“What do you mean we’ve lost contact with the facility on Binthu?” The illusive man furrowed his brown in frustration.

“Sir, they haven’t made contact in hours. And they are not responding to our hails,” explained the scared technician.

The Illusive Man swirled the whiskey in his glass round and round before gulping it down. “Salvage whatever research you can from there databanks. Then, activate remote detonation. We can’t have the alliance finding the sight.”

“But they could still be alive. We should send a team to…”

“No. Do as I say. The facility is lost.” The council’s new lapdog was on their trail, and he would leave nothing to chance. He brought his cigar to his mouth and inhaled deeply, the tobacco smoke filling his lungs. His men hadn’t been fast enough to secure Kahoku before he could transmit the coordinates. He held his breath for a second before exhaling the smoke. Now, their entire operation was vulnerable.

* * *

(1300 hours)

The team had quickly determined that the entire facility had been slaughtered. Bodies littered the floor and blood spatter clung to the walls. It was almost impossible to believe that one person could have been responsible for so much carnage. But they were dealing with a council spectre, nonetheless.

They eventually found him in the prison block, passed out on the floor. Williams rushed to his body to check for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. She pried the needle out of his death grip, reading what it was: tranqs.

She held it up to the group. “Well, that explains it. Shepard’s been drugged. The only question is if he did this to himself, or if someone did it to him.”

She turned her head and immediately started to back away. What she saw horrified her. “Oh my god!”

A man was tied to a table, limp and dead. To his side, another man lay with his skull cracked open. Garrus stepped forward, resting his rifle over his shoulder. He was with c-sec, and it was time to put his skills to use. He approached the bodies, smelling them. “This one was dead long before Shepard got here,” he stated matter-of-factly as he pointed to the first body. “Although I can’t say the same about the other.”

Ashley followed Garrus into the cell. Upon closer inspection, she realized the face looked familiar. “That’s, that’s admiral Kahoku!” she gasped.

“What does it matter? Let’s get the commander and get out of here,” Tali said. She was not liking the creepy vibe of this place.

Alenko agreed. “Wrex, you carry the commander back to the Mako. Tali, I want you to go with Williams; see if you can gain access to the network and mine their files. Garrus, since this is an admiral, I’m going to need you to document this case.”

“And where are you going to be headed, human,” Wrex replied. He was not amused with having to carry Shepard’s body just because he was a krogan. Yes, he was the largest and strongest, but he wasn’t a day laborer.

“Me?” Alenko said, “I’m going to head to the security room. See what happened here.” Apart of him wanted to see what Shepard did when they weren’t here.

* * *

(1500 hours)

Shepard awoke in the Normandy’s medical bay. He felt tired, so tired. His eyes remained closed as he rolled on his side, trying to go back to sleep again. _Wait a second, wasn’t I…_ He jumped off the exam table, ready to fight. Except, he wasn’t in his armor. He patted his thigh, searching for his sidearm, only to find it missing.

“Commander, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up at all.” It was Dr. Chakwas. She sat in her chair, her legs crossed, making the finishing touches on the updates to Shepard’s rather lengthy medical record.

“Where…how did I get here?” he asked in confusion.

Chakwas laughed to herself. “Oh, they carried you back, my dear. The thought, the great commander Shepard defeated by a needle.”

Shepard disconnected the IV attached to his arm. “It’ll take more than that.”

“Oh, I know. How’d you end up with a handless knife in your stomach? It made it that much harder to remove. And do you know how many stitches I had to use? You really must take better care of yourself, commander.”

Shepard waved her off and got up. He started to walk out of the medical bay when the memories of this morning came rushing back to him. He felt sick to his stomach. Akuze had been nothing more than a science experiment; his men were dead; admiral Kahoku was dead; and he’d passed out in the end. Fucking wonderful. And once again, he felt a dreaded sadness in his heart. He was yet again empty, without purpose.

* * *

(1305 hours)

Kaiden walked into the security room. Its front window had been shattered, and the lights flickered. Shepard had probably been in here at some point, looking for whatever it was he was searching for. Kaiden cleared the glass shards off the chair before taking a seat. Rows and rows of computer monitors lined the walls, each showing a different camera angle. At a glance, one could see what had taken place in the entire facility. He activated the haptic interface in front of him, trying to decipher the controls. He pressed the rewind button, and the displays zoomed backwards at incredible speed. He could see his team, searching the facility for Shepard, only in reverse. Before they had arrived, nothing had moved inside of the facility, which had made for hours and hours of nothingness. When he was about to give up, the recordings started to show some movement, and he could see Shepard walking. _This must have been from before being drugged. I must be close to his arrival._ He stopped the recording just before Shepard had started killing the guards, playing it at four times speed. Even at this pace, it was clear that Shepard had made short work of the guards at the facility.

Once most of the fighting was over, Alenko played the recording normally. He followed Shepard’s progress as he made a beeline for the labs. Unfortunately, there was no camera in that area of the base, but the flashes of gunfire coming out of the dark room was all Alenko needed to confirm his suspicions. Shepard had never come here on a rescue mission, at least for the most part. His main goal was to kill all these people. He was the one responsible for the pile of bodies in the lab; Shepard had slaughtered them like animals in a cage. Alenko had no doubt that these scientists were evil, maniacal people; but they deserved justice, to be processed under the full extent of the law for both crimes against the alliance and humanity. However, once Shepard killed them, the point was moot. There would be no justice; there would be no satisfaction for the families who lost people; all that mattered to Shepard was **his** justice and **his** satisfaction. Yes, maybe Shepard was a spectre, but Alenko suspected that if he was just a normal soldier, Shepard would have done the same thing. Alenko got up from the chair. It was time he left this place.


	29. Some Help

“Is the sight still intact?”

“No, it exploded. My team is telling me it was most likely a remote detonation set up in the event the facility was captured,” Shepard sighed. He leaned back in his chair, and his feet were kicked up on the desk in front of him. The conversation went silent for a long time.

“Shepard, tell me, what’s gotten into you. You’ve been doing amazing work out there and have saved countless lives.”

Shepard just snorted at the comment. _Save lives? What a joke._ “I’m fine, Anderson,” he stated simply. But it was a lie. He was not fine. He felt so empty and worthless. He’d completed the mission, his personal goal. Yet just like before, he was not satisfied.

“No, no you’re not. Tell me.” Anderson knew asking would probably never yield an answer, but it was worth a shot.

“I don’t take orders from you anymore, remember?” He slammed his hand into the desk. “I don’t need anything, Anderson. T-trust me, I’m fine, j-just need another mission to get back into the swing of things.”

 _Shepard stuttering? That’s a new one._ Anderson persisted for an answer. “I’m not asking as your superior, Shepard. I’m asking as a friend.” Shepard was clearly anything but fine. He’d have no one else be humanity’s spectre. Shepard was tough, capable, and always got the mission done, no matter the cost. But his mental health left something to be desired.

Shepard huffed at the comment. He had no friends; he’d utterly convinced himself of that long ago. Shepard was just another cog in the machine, destined to fight until he died. “I don’t need friends, Anderson,” he said as his eyes turned glassy.

“Everybody does. And running away from your problem’s never solves them, Shepard.”

Getting frustrated, he crossed his arms. _Why couldn’t Anderson just let this go?_

“I don’t have any problems, Anderson,” Shepard spat. “My mission always gets completed. You guys get to take the credit. I’ll live, just as I always have.”

“But at what cost?”

Shepard remained silent, unable to find an answer. It was the deep, epistemological questions like these that Shepard always ran from. He’d conditioned himself to be soulless and uncaring; that’s what made a good soldier. His life didn’t matter. Why should it, when so many people die at random for no other reason than to satiate violent needs? Life was meaningless, and he’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Silence is the most damning admission of all, Shepard,” Anderson said softly.

Shepard finally conceded. He rested his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. “I found them, Anderson. I found them.”

“Found who, Shepard? Saren?”

 _I wish._ “No, no. Min-mindoir,” he struggled to say. The cracks in the dam began to appear.

Anderson had always known that this news would be…emotional, for Shepard. “Who? Where is he? The alliance would be more than happy to round him up for you,” he offered.

Shepard let out a short bark of laughter. “No. He’s already been taken care of.” Anderson honestly thought that he wouldn’t kill Balak? Fat chance.

Anderson would have to choose his next words carefully. “This has been long overdue, and it's good to know that you can finally put it to rest now. I’m happy for you, truly. I hope you find your peace, Shepard.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. _Peace, how does one find peace?_ He poured his thoughts out, unable to contain them in his mind. “I finally did it. But, why do I feel so empty? I thought revenge would… bring me peace, but I feel worse than before. How is that possible?”

Anderson had finally broken through, but there was nothing pretty to see. He could have added more to his condolences, but Shepard didn’t need that right now. “Revenge is a fickle matter, Shepard. There was once a great man, from a long time ago, who said something that always stuck with me: with an eye for an eye, everybody goes blind.”

“So what should I have done? Let them get away? That’s not fair. They deserve to die for what they’ve done!” Shepard cried.

“John, if I may. It’s not about letting them get away. It’s what you do when you find them that matters. You can kill a person, but that will never bring you peace. Only forgiveness can.”

“For-give. Ne-never,” Shepard struggled to say. Anderson wanted the angry kid to do something he knew he couldn’t do. The thought was irreconcilable with everything he had ever believed. They deserved to suffer justice by his hand. But if that was true, why did he feel like he had accomplished nothing so far?

“Shepard, I don’t want to pretend that I have all the answers, because I sure as hell don’t. But you must learn to let things,” he grimaced at his poor word choice, but continued nonetheless, “go. Revenge will not bring them back.”

Shepard wiped his eye with the back of his hand. “Then what do I do?”

“Fight like hell to protect what you do have.”

Again, Anderson’s advice made him feel worse. He had nothing to fight for, to protect, to live for; he thought his purpose was to get vengeance, but that was over now. Well, he always had himself, but he hated himself, so that didn’t count.

* * *

“Here, I decrypted the next batch of data for you,” Tali said. She was working in the back of Liara’s lab. Well, it was technically Dr. Chakwas’, but Liara had made it her new home.

“Thank you, Tali.” Liara started reading the data logs. Shepard had asked her to look into Cerberus’ data to find more information about the Protheans, but that was almost non-existent. The lab's specialty tilted towards ‘research.’ She preferred to call it cruel and inhumane torture. Most of the experiments revolved around genetic alterations to Thresher Maws and the cloning of the long-extinct rachni. Brief flashes of soldiers screaming in a muddy field occasionally interrupted her thoughts while she read about the experiments; residual memories from her investigation into Shepard’s mind. “Poor Shepard,” she mumbled to herself. To have suffered all that just for ‘science’ was barbaric.

“Hu?” Tali asked. She was in the middle of decrypting more of the data for Liara when she heard her comment.

“It’s just these experiments are so terrible. I can’t imagine the people who died all for this.”

“I was talking about why you mentioned Shepard.”

Liara gulped. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just he had to raid the facility by himself and see all of this. It must have been terrible.” She couldn’t tell Tali about the memories from Shepard’s mind. She’d promised not to say anything, and she would endeavor to keep her word, no matter how much she wanted to say something. There were things in that mind that she’d wished she could forget.

“Uh-huh, sure.” She didn’t particularly like asari. They could prance around the galaxy showing too much skin to get whatever they wanted. That was something Tali could never do. Liara got to show her face in public and gawk at the attention, but Tali would be condemned to hiding behind this mask. Tali knew Liara was hiding something about Shepard, but it wasn’t her problem. Her next file finished decrypting and she took a brief glance at it. _These are shipping logs,_ she realized and got up to leave. “Liara, I’ll be back. I believe I found something the commander should see.”

Liara barely responded to Tali. She remained engrossed in the results section of the study before her: modifications to make reverse transcriptase more effective. _Whatever,_ Tali thought as she walked out of the lab.

* * *

Shepard crossed his arms over his chest, confused. “What am I supposed to do with this exactly?” he asked.

“Oh, well, these are shipping logs that I found from the data we got from the Cerberus base. I thought you might want to see them because…” she tried to explain, only to be cut off by Shepard.

“Can you just get to your point already!” Shepard spat. He was in a particularly bad mood, more than usual, and she wasn’t sure why. She wanted to shout back at the commander ‘that’s what I am getting to’ but held her tongue. She’d seen Shepard kill pirates far more ruthless than her; she did not want to get on his bad side.

“I was able to find the coordinates for three other facilities. I…thought you might want to know, but...um, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. Won’t happen again. I’ll go.” She slowly turned around and began to walk away.

Shepard’s mind processed the news, stunned. _More Cerberus facilities?_ That meant more chances to find those responsible and hold them to account. But Anderson’s advice remained at the forefront of his mind, preventing him from thinking clearly about anything. He only noticed the quarian turning away after she’d already taken a few steps, her head hanging in shame. “Hey, wait!” He took two giant leaps forward until he was standing in front of her. “You did a good job. Um….” he tried to think of something positive, “keep up the good work.”

Tali tilted her head as she looked at the commander, clearly confused. _Had he not just yelled at me?_ She was a little stunned that he’d stopped her; even more so that he had anything nice to say. She just nodded her head. She couldn’t tell if he was being sincere, or just messing around. And looking at his face was little help either. Her whole life, she’d grown up without seeing other’s faces; naturally, she always found it difficult to tell emotions, a problem that accentuated itself on her pilgrimage. Moreover, Shepard’s face was more like a kaleidoscope of anger, sadness, sprinkled in with some hope, and… was that confusion?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled before turning away and making his way towards the staircase, not even giving her time to respond. _Did he just apologize?_ she asked herself. She couldn’t believe it.

  



	30. Home Sweet Home

* * *

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that the Normandy will be sitting this one out,” Hackett reiterated.

Shepard tried to form words in his mouth, but none came. He ended up looking like a goldfish trying to breathe in water. 

“You’ve done a great job, Shepard. Nonetheless, the fifth fleet’s got this one.”

“But…” Shepard stammered.

Hackett exhaled deeply through his nose, flaring his nostrils. The real reason he wanted to take these Cerberus facilities was that this was a delicate operation; they wanted to capture researchers for interrogation and keep the base intact so they could investigate as much as possible. Shepard was a blunt instrument; you usually sent him at a target and they died. That did not fit the bill for this mission, so he would have his men do it instead. “Shepard, you’ve been invaluable, but your focus should remain on your main mission: finding Saren. Why don’t you uh…” he had to think of something to get Shepard’s mind off it, “take three days of shore leave. The Normandy’s had some pretty tough weeks, and you deserve a short break.” _All soldiers love shore leave, right?_

He was clearly being denied this mission, but for what reason, he did not know. If he had to guess, it was probably because he was personally attached to it. However, he didn’t need a break. He was fine! “But… why?” he asked again. He did not like being stonewalled without an explanation. 

Hackett was quickly losing his temper. “Shepard, it’s an order. Hackett out.” The conversation was now over. Shepard remained still, contemplating his next decision. Fuck it, fine. He quietly strolled out of the comm room and down the command deck, trying to figure out what he would do with three days. 

“Joker, where are we right now?” he asked.

The flight lieutenant stretched, putting his hands behind his head. “Ya, I don’t know. Probably floating somewhere in the middle of space,” Joker said with complete confidence as he just stared out the window, not bothering to look at the map below him. 

“Hmm. How nice you are to me will decide how many days of shore leave we’ve been granted that I actually allow you to take.”

Joker was shocked, and he remained silent for a moment. And then he was ecstatic as the implication of the news finally hit him. “Shore leave! How long? Where are we headed? I’ll fly us there right now, no questions asked!”

Shepard snickered to himself. _Joker, not saying anything, that would be a god send_. “That’s what I was trying to determine. So, where are we?”

Joker looked down at the navigation screens. “We are in the middle of the Attican Traverse. Where do you want me to fly us: Citadel, Earth, or….?”

Shepard’s voice caught in his throat. “Did you just say Attican Traverse?”

Joker looked back at the commander. “Um, yes. And why am I not liking the tone of your voice?”

He’d never had the chance to return, to make amends. He simply never had the money to afford a ship to a backwater colony. But now he was in the command of the Normandy, his ship. He could do anything he wanted, within reason. 

“Joker, take us to Mindoir,” he said in a solemn voice.

The pilot snorted at the suggestion. “What? Why on Earth would we want to go to the middle of nowh-.“ _Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit oh shit_. It had taken him a second to put two and two together. Shepard’s face remained stoic, and Joker determined his best move was just to comply. “Headed to Mindoir, straightaway, commander.” He didn’t say another word.

Shepard stared out the front window, watching the stars streak by them. He was headed to Mindoir; home. He wasn’t sure if he should be happy or sad. But he wanted to do this.

* * *

Most of the alliance soldiers and personnel were having dinner in the mess, discussing the day’s recent news. 

“Shore leave? Let’s fucking go! Where we headed,” asked one. Meanwhile, as they spoke, Shepard was walking down the staircase to join. It had been a while since he’d eaten with them, and he was hungry anyway.

“Well, um, from what I’ve heard, Mindoir,” said another. Shepard paused on the steps, suddenly unsure of himself. Had he made a mistake? Should he just bring them to the citadel so they could all get drunk?

An uproar of confusion and anger ensued at the mention of their destination. “Why are we headed there?” “Did it get attacked again?” “Are there still going to be women?” “This is shore leave! He’s supposed to do this on his own time!” “Where are we going to find a bar?” Shepard remained still, clinging to the handrail. His fears were being realized; he suddenly felt ashamed that he’d ever considered this, let alone ordered it. 

“How about we have him join his family!” shouted one soldier in the upheaval. 

Kaiden raised his hand to halt the conversations, but that didn’t seem to be working. “Enough!” he said as he slammed his fist down on the table, causing plates and utensils to jingle. “Yes, it isn’t ideal. But it’s still three days!” The mess was dead silent. “Let him… have his piece. It’s the least we could do.” The silence allowed them to reflect on the things that had just been said, and some felt guilty. They all knew the commander had it tough. Most of them had the privilege of grouping up with both parents. And besides the crappy location, which was still uncontestable, they’d gotten three entire days of not working, even though most of them had only been on duty for a few weeks; being on a Spectre’s ship, chasing Saren across the galaxy, they had doubted they would ever even get a break. 

In the silence, Shepard remained motionless, hidden behind the wall from the oblivious soldiers.

One of them eventually raised their cup. It was plastic and filled with grape juice, but it would do. “Amen. I’ll celebrate to that. Fuck the batarians!” 

A small, sad smile crept on Shepard’s face.

“Hooah!” they roared in unison. It would have been awkward if any of the aliens were here for that chant, so they were thankful for that.

Shepard had a confusing mix of emotions running through him. Melancholy, anger, disgust, regret. But most of all, confusion. He was confused as to why anyone would bother to cheer in his defense. He felt an odd sensation in his chest, but he shook his head, trying to disengage himself from the paralysis he had entered. Still afraid, he turned around and headed back up the stairs to the command deck. He couldn’t bear to face them.

* * *

The Normandy had landed basically in the middle of nowhere, on the outskirts of a small town. Probably the only town. The cargo bay door began to lower, and Shepard held his hand in front of his eyes to block the harsh sunlight that was seeping through the ever-widening gap. He was dressed in basic civilian clothes as opposed to his dress uniform or combat fatigues: he wasn’t here for the attention. A simple black shirt, jeans, a red fleece sweater, and combat boots. Yes, maybe the combat boots didn’t count as civilian, but they were needed for the landscape. He took slow, deliberate steps out of the Normandy, lowering his hand once his eyes adjusted to the light. The Normandy had landed in a rather large clearing that barely fit the ship. It was surrounded by young, rather short trees. They had clearly been planted recently; well, recently in tree years. 

He jumped down from the cargo ramp, landing in the soft mud that gave way under him. Yep, he’d definitely made the right decision to wear combat boots. He looked around him, gazing at all the different shrubs and flowers at his feet. Birds chirped high pitch songs, and other creatures foreign to him scuttled about. He scanned the area with his eyes. It was so unlike what he had imagined. He was expecting the aftermath of a war zone, with dead bodies littered everywhere. But it was thirty years later. Whatever had happened had probably been cleaned up, built over, or swallowed up by the forest. 

According to the map on his omnitool, a village lay far in the distance, maybe five clicks away by his estimate. He could have taken the Mako and plowed through this place, but that would have felt like desecration. He stepped out of the clearing, pushing a branch out of the way as he made his initial entrance into the forest. Shepard had never visited somewhere without an ordered purpose. Most of his deployments had been in the name of war. Visiting this place was a first for him, both as a concept and in the fact that it was Mindoir. He took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, he smelled nature untarnished by city air or the destruction of war. He peered into the forest before him, but all he could see was a mess of tree limbs and leaves. Here, the sun was less bright, having been blocked by the greenery, almost as if the vegetation was sheltering him. 

Shepard continued to trudge through the forest until he could no longer see the glistening hull of the Normandy. He paused for a brief moment, forgetting that this was Mindoir. He was surrounded by a bevy of sights and smells and sounds, all so foreign to him. His semi-permanent scowl melted away as his eyes relaxed and his mouth crept into a small smile. He closed his eyes, trying to relish the feeling. But all he could see in his mind was people fighting; gradually, the chirp of the birds was replaced by the sounds of gunfire and the screams of people dying; the warm feeling of the sun on his skin was replaced by the sting of flames from a nearby explosion. Unable to carry on any longer, his eye shot open, but the feelings never left him. “Leave me alone!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to forget his visions; but they persisted. He remembered where he was: Mindoir. _I am never going to find peace here. It was a mistake to come_. Despite his thoughts, he couldn’t turn back. He was here, and he might as well finish his mission. What he was searching for, he wasn’t exactly sure; whatever he found would have to suffice. He continued to walk through the forest, but the anger had returned to his face. Now, the beauty of the nature around him only deepened his anger. This is what had been taken away from him, what was supposed to be his! Every second he spent in it would only worsen his mood. 

* * *

His feet ached. Without the adrenaline or stakes of combat, his body was tired from the long walk. And he still had one click to go. He tried to push a branch to the side so he could continue along his path, but it whacked him in the face. He hit the small tree, but it was rather flexible and so he did no damage. On the contrary, thorny hairs on the stalk he had punched pricked his hand. _Damn it_ , he told himself. In the relative solitude of the walk, he had had a rather long time to think. To think about the galaxy, to think about himself, to think about the…future. He’d come to an impasse in his life; with most of the desire for revenge completed, what was he to do? Continue roaming around the galaxy, killing people? 

He recounted the events of his life, dissecting them. His time at the orphanage, which felt like forever ago, and the reasons he’d run away. The years he spent on the streets, working for gangs and other criminal organizations; the things he had been forced to do during his time with the gang… Looking back, it was nothing compared to the other things he had done, the lives he had taken. But that man, in the dark basement, had been the first push over the cliff that had sent him spiraling down into the abyss. He continued falling for years, and he believed that he was already buried so deep that he would never get out. 

He continued to remember. His training with the alliance, which had been relatively easy. The first deployment on a mission with his team; the hope he felt afterward each time he completed another mission with them and got closer to them. And how all that development had been robbed from him by Akuze.

Shepard could now see the ending of the tree line; he knew he must be getting close by now. Twigs occasionally snapped under his feet, making him feel like he was trespassing on something, as if he was a thief who’d snuck into a home only to be given away by creaky floors. But with each step, he could gradually see more and more houses in the distance. His patience grew thin and he started sprinting through the forest. He tripped on a branch on the floor, but he quickly got back and continued forward. It had been twenty-nine years; he had waited enough. 

He cleared the tree line, and his sprint slowed into a slow walk as he gawked at everything before him. Several houses dotted the landscape, surrounded by fields and fields of farmland. He’d known Mindoir had been a farming colony when it had been attacked, but he’d never actually seen a farm before. The sun was high in the sky now, and it beat down on everything relentlessly. 

* * *

Most of the crew of the Normandy had set up shop outside, stalking out patches of wilderness. Some built hammocks and went to sleep, while others tried to construct a crude volleyball court. It hadn’t been what they were expecting for a shore leave, but being out here, breathing fresh air, sure beat being stuck on the ship. 

Tali was walking around, pretty much at random, staring at the ground in front of her. While she was here, all she could think about was Rannoch, the planet her people had lost. This is what she had missed out on her entire childhood, and countless more would in the future. It wasn’t fair! They deserved to have a planet of their own, where they didn’t have to live locked behind these suits. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a flower. She had almost stepped on it but had seen it at the last moment. Her foot hovered over the flower for a second before she carefully took a step backward. She sat down on a patch of grass in front of the flower, crossing her legs. She tentatively reached out with her right hand towards the flower but hesitated. _Was it right to do this, while so many on the fleet couldn’t?_ She slowly retracted her hand. Tali wanted nothing more than to touch this flower, to feel it with her own fingers instead of through her suit; to inhale deeply and smell its scent without her respirator getting in her way. _Screw it_ , she thought and reached towards the flower again. She delicately caressed the flower in her hand, rubbing its petals. She’d been dreaming to do this for a long time, like all the women did in those movies before they fell in love with the man of their dreams and lived happily ever after. But she thought that was unlikely to happen. The galaxy, as she was beginning to see during her pilgrimage, was a cruel and unforgiving place. If she ever found a pilgrimage gift, she’d return to the fleet and live out her days on a bunch of rusted ships, waiting for the next breach to kill them all.

“Hey.”

In her surprise, her arm suddenly jerked away from the flower, accidentally tearing the flower off of the stem and damaging it. She let each of the petals drop to the ground, gently shaking them off her hand. It just wasn’t meant to be. She turned to face the speaker who had interrupted her thoughts.

“Liara,” she spat, her exotic tone hiding some of the displeasure that lay there.

* * *

He had continued walking down the road that ran through all the farms of the town. It was a rather depressing thing; he was just glad that it wasn’t dry enough to kick dust into the air to ruin his clothes or sting his eyes. For the most part, he looked at the ground, only taking occasional glances of the places around him. But on one of the glances, he noticed something out of place in the acres of farmland and houses: a marble monument down one road. Curious as to its purpose, he began to walk towards it.

He’d been mulling over what Anderson had told him about revenge. He knew the common consensus was that revenge was wrong. But why is it wrong to inflict the same harm on those who had harmed you? The answer to this question eluded him. Why was he any less of a person for giving somebody what they deserved? Revenge is justice. 

He reached the marble structure and stared at it for a couple of seconds. Large marble blocks were arranged in a semi-circle, and one block sat in front of them all. He read the engraving: ‘In remembrance to all those who lost their lives.’ Instantly, Shepard knew what this was for: the raid of Mindoir that had happened when he was only a small child. He approached the marble block and read the smaller inscription at the bottom. ‘to never forget, to hold those who lost their lives close to our hearts.’ 

Shepard began clenching and unclenching his fists, anger flowing through his veins. Remembering his thoughts about revenge, he tried to justify himself; he’d done all those things for these people, so they could rest in peace. _Liar!_ his mind told him, and he knew it was true. He hadn’t done it for them, he’d done it so he could rest his conscious. He’d found those responsible, and he would continue to do so, but no matter how much he accomplished, he never felt like he’d done anything worthy of note. 

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, walked around the central marble block, and approached the others. Seeing that words were carved into the marble, he started from the top of the left-hand side and began reading. However, as his eyes scanned the letters and his brain assembled them, he realized what all these words were. They were no words; they were names! He closed his eyes for a brief moment, ashamed at his ignorance. These were the people who he had been fighting for to get justice _. For his parents!_ he told himself as his mind attempted to name them. Except, he couldn’t; he didn’t know their first names. He’d never bothered. Tears started to form in his eyes, sadness flowing off him in waves. He justified everything, even his life’s goal, on avenging them, and he didn’t know their names. The irony hit him hard. Realizing he needed to right this, he started to quickly scan the marble blocks, searching for something: Shepard. 

He was so emotional, he didn’t even realize the names were in alphabetical. So instead, he stood in front of each marble block for two minutes, scanning from side to side, down the rows, from the very top to the bottom, where the marble met a cement pedestal. It took him fifteen minutes to read through the names until he came to what he was looking for: Shepard. His eyes stared at the two names before he read them out loud. “Charles Shepard. Marie Shepard.” He took a step closer to the memorial. He started tracing the delicate engraving of each of the letters that made up their names with his index finger. C.H.A.R.L.E.S.S.H.E.P.A.R.D. _This is my father_. M.A.R.I.E.S.H.E.P.A.R.D. _This is my mother_. He sunk to his knees and rested his head against the stone. 

“Charles, Marie. Charles, Marie. Charles Shepard.  Marie Shepard.” He whispered their names over and over again, trying to embed them in his mind so he would never forget. A silent tear streamed down his face as he came to a realization: how much better his life would have been if he had died too and his name had been on that wall. If he’d died as a toddler, his last memories would have been of a family, of happiness, and of the ignorant bliss of childhood. He banged his fist into the stone, upset at himself and his life. Because he hadn’t died; he’d escaped death and left his parents behind. He left his parents, escaped his death unfairly, all for what? So he could live a miserable life, alone and afraid of people, angry and distrustful of everyone he met? It would have been far better that he’d died alongside them. 

Behind Shepard, an old man walked into the memorial. He wore a woolen jacket over a pair of overalls. On his head rested a brown fedora. Shepard didn’t even notice him until the man rested a hand on his back.

“Son, are you alright?” he asked gently, in the weak voice of an elderly man.

Shepard’s face whipped around to face the man. _Who the hell was this intruder who had come to ruin his moment of solitude?_ Eyes red from crying stared back at the old man, and despite the sadness in them, anger was clearly visible. The old man looked down at Shepard’s face, and his throat closed up. This face looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t tell why, or where he’d seen it. 

Shepard didn’t respond, and the man didn’t need him to. It was obvious why he was so upset. He’d probably done it enough over the first couple of years, but gradually, the display of emotions faded into a deep sadness that you could only see in his eyes. He could tell that the man before him on the floor was clearly an outsider, not only because of not being seen before in the town but because of his clothes. Well maintained clothing of rich color and soft fabric. It was no silk, but it was better than what the people around here wore, like his scraggy old jacket that always tickled the bottom of his neck. Eventually, Shepard rose to his feet and wiped the tears in his eyes with the sleeve of his fleece. 

“What’s your name?” asked the old man.

Shepard leveled his gaze at him, anger laced in his eyebrows. Why did he want to know? More importantly, why did he care, because nobody ever cared about him? “Start with yours, old man,” Shepard spat.

“Marcus Orello. I’ve lived here for a long, long time.” The man waited patiently for Shepard to respond. 

“Commander Shepard.” 

Shepard. He remembered that name. It was not one he thought he would ever hear once more. “John. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Shepard looked at him with utter confusion, a million thoughts racing through his mind. “I’ve never seen you before, old man. Who the hell do you think you are?” 

A small smile crept on Marcus’ face. “No, I don’t think you would have remembered,” he replied weakly. 

Shepard started to walk away slowly, retreating from the man. “Listen, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you think you are. I don’t know why you think you know me, because you don’t. Just please, leave me alone!” 

The old man met Shepard’s gaze. “You’re the son of Charles and Marie. They were the only Shepard’s in town, after all. Welcome home, John,” he said warmly.

Shepard shuddered at the use of his first name. He hated it when people called him John. “How do you know them?” Shepard demanded, getting more and more concerned by the second. His fear turned into anger, and he pulled the pistol from his waist, pointing it at the man. 

The man continued to look at Shepard, unfazed by the gun. “I knew them because I was their neighbor. Now put that thing away before you do something you regret.”

Shepard’s hand started to shake violently as he lowered the gun to his side. “You…you knew them?” he cried. 

Marcus nodded his head, not needing to use words. 

Shepard’s voice caught in his throat, and his legs trembled. “C-can you tell m-me about them?” 

“Yes, I can. They were,” he gulped, “wonderful people. But come, I will tell you more on my way home.”

Shepard tucked his sidearm away, back into the waist of his pants. “I thought you came here to mourn?”

“I mourned, yes. And while that time has past, I make it a habit to stop every once in a while.” He beckoned Shepard to follow him. “Now come, there is much you do not know.”

* * *

Wrex had set up shop about a hundred meters into the woods. He brought with him his assault rifle, not believing he would need his shotgun here. He didn’t feel like staying cooped up on the Normandy, and he didn’t feel like mingling with the alliance crewmen either. He preferred the solitude; he’d already seen it all, and life was no longer a surprise to him. He’d had a lifetime of interactions with others; now, he just wanted to be by himself. 

He set his rifle to semi-automatic and took aim at a tree. He squeezed the trigger, and a single bullet hit home, sending splinters into the air. He fired again and landed the shot with the same amount of precision. With a shotgun, you didn’t really need to aim, just point it in the general direction. With assault rifles, you could always just hold down the trigger and pray. But there was always a virtue in knowing how to aim. He was a krogan, and his blood told him so.

He stayed like that for a while, taking sporadic shots at trees. Then, he just stared at his handiwork. Damaged and mangled trees surrounded him, with broken branches hanging by pieces of bark, or tree trunks peppered with holes that went clean through.

He heard a twig snap behind him, and he turned around, ready for an ambush. “Huh. What are you doing here?” It was just the quarian, hiding behind a tree, only her facemask visible. 

Tali stepped out from behind the tree, caught. “Well, I just heard some noise in the woods, and I went to investigate. I found you, shooting all this,” she said a bit sadly. What was supposed to be the beauty of nature was now a ruined mess of trees. “Why?”

Wrex stowed his assault rifle on his back. “Target practice,” he growled.

Despite the chaotic state everything around them was in, she’d watched him hit every shot with deadly precision. “Do you think you could teach me?”

Wrex groaned rather loudly. “Why don’t you get Shepard or the turian to help you. They’d probably be better teachers than me,” he replied. 

Well, Shepard was gone, and he was scarier than Wrex, all things being considered. And Tali didn’t feel like dealing with a turian, given the disagreements between their species over the centuries. Now, she didn’t consider herself as being manipulative. She found it rather cruel to do that to people. But this wasn’t that bad, right? “But, I thought you were the best soldier, being a krogan and all,” she said, adding a sad voice for added effect.

“I am!” he roared. “Uggghhh, fine!”

* * *

Shepard followed the old man to his house, which was a rather short walk from the memorial. They hadn’t spoken that much during the walk, and that was fine with Shepard. He was barely holding together as is. They approached a rickety, old wooden fence. Marcus fished a key from his pocket to unlock the fence door and held it open for Shepard. However, Shepard hesitated, feeling out of place, but the man beckoned him to follow. 

In front of him, Shepard could see a two-story house, also made of wood. It looked old and worn, as most of the white paint had chipped off to reveal the dull-brown wood underneath. Yet the structure looked sturdy. It had survived the years and would survive many more to come. Shepard walked down a small dirt path until he reached the steps. 

The man turned around to look at him before he opened the door. “I built this house with my own hands after the raids. It’s nothing fancy, but it is home.” _Home, what is home?_ Shepard never had a home; not unless you counted barracks or a dark street corner. It was a trivial, meaningless concept to him. Nonetheless, he walked inside. Shepard had never actually been inside one before. Well, that wasn’t necessarily correct. He’d been inside homes before, but only during wartime, when he’d storm them to capture or kill all the occupants. Shepard had never gone inside a home to just be in it.

It was dimly lit, the only light seeping through in-between the cracks of curtains on the windows. A fireplace was against one wall, which Shepard thought was a hazard, but he didn’t say anything. The lights turned on, illuminating the interior in a bright brown glow. 

  
“Please, take a seat,” insisted Marcus, who slowly took off his jacket and set it to hang on a rack. “Would you like me to take your coat?” 

“No, I’m fine.” He took a seat on a one-person sofa. As he lowered himself, he sunk into the soft cushioning, an alien sensation to the hard metal benches he was used to. He rested his hands on the leather, feeling its smooth texture, and how it contrasted his rough hands. Marcus took a seat across from him in an old wooden chair. 

Initially, no one spoke, but Shepard eventually worked up the courage to ask a question. “So, you said you knew my parents. How?”

“Well, they used to be my neighbors” Marcus replied humorously. He pointed his finger to his left. “They lived right over there.”

Shepard nodded his head slowly. He tried forming words, but they stopped on his lips. What was he supposed to say? “What were they like?” 

His eyes looked upwards as he tried to remember, and a warm smile came to his face as it all came back to him. “I’ll start with your father. He was… humorous. He loved to laugh, even at the smallest joke. He always found something to brighten everyone’s day.” He started laughing himself when he remembered the funniest thing: “And sometimes…your father would find something funny and laugh…even though none of us found it funny. But we…all ended up laughing because your father’s laugh was so funny” he tried to say in between quiet chuckles. 

Shepard’s eyes looked down at the coffee table in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed! He felt unworthy of being here. How could he ever have possibly been their son? 

“Your mother was a beautiful woman, John. Your father always said he didn’t fall in love with her because of her looks, but I never believed him. And she was a smart woman too, much smarter than your father. Everyone always wondered why she fell in love with a simple farmer boy when she could have gone to university. But I think that says something about her far greater than had she gone to college.”

Marcus looked at John’s face, and all he could see was sadness. A sadness that was mirrored in his own heart when he had lost everything too. But he saw something more there: the rigid jawline and cheekbones of his father and the blue eyes of his mother. At that moment, it truly hit him that he was sitting with their son, all these years later. “You know, you look so much like them.”

John looked up from the coffee table, making eye contact with the man across from him. “Do I? Do I really” he asked in a quiet voice. 

“Yes. I couldn’t be surer,” he replied. There was something that might more accurately answer John’s question, but he would have to search for it later. He got up and approached the fireplace. Carefully, ensuring not to break his old body, he bent over and placed a log inside it. He then struck a match, and the log caught fire. Marcus sat back down. “And your mother, she was a great cook. I wish you could have tried her apple pies. She always brought me one every month, and I basically got addicted to them.” He laughed at the old memory, but a slight twinkle of sadness was visible in his eyes.

Shepard was quiet for a long time, unable to think of anything to say. He stared into the fire, watching its flames engulf the log in an inferno. Eventually, Marcus turned to look at John, but all he saw was the fire reflecting in his eyes. “Before I continue,” he interrupted, “tell me about yourself.”

John looked away from the fire and back at the coffee table between them. His eyes traced the intricate swirls and patterns of the wood. “I’m a soldier in the alliance. Commander John Shepard. N7 special forces. I’m a council spectre too, now.”

Marcus judgmentally shook his head. “No, I asked you about yourself.”

Shepard was at a loss for words. “But that is me,” he protested, but Marcus held up a hand to silence him.

“No, that is what you do. I’m asking about you,” he explained.

“I…I’m a soldier. I don’t know what else to tell you!” _What kind of question was this? He asked me about myself and I told him. What does he want?_ Shepard was getting frustrated, and his hands curled into fists. 

Marcus chuckled to himself. “Anyone could be a soldier. But nobody can be you.” He looked towards the fire, collecting his thoughts. “You don’t know how to answer this question, do you,” he realized. He looked away from the fire, facing Shepard again. “What do you do when you aren’t being a soldier? How would your friends describe you? Do you have a special someone or a family? These are the things that tell somebody about yourself,” he explained. “Now try again.”

And try he did. His mind tried to answer the questions but couldn’t. The characteristics being described to him were almost alien, and the questions were something he had never considered. In resolute shame, he turned back to Marcus to admit his defeat. “I can’t answer any of those.”

Marcus brought his hand closer to the fire, rubbing them to warm his fingers up. “Then you must have a very sad life, commander.”

Shepard could only nod his head. “Yes, yes it is,” he tried to say, but it only came out as a hoarse whisper. The conversation grew silent again, but eventually, Shepard worked up the courage to ask a question: “So what about you? Do you have family or friends?”

Marcus’ face contorted into a painful smile. “Yes, yes I did,” he began with pride, “but they were taken away from me, just like your parents were,” he ended with grief. 

This made no sense to Shepard. Why did this man care about the people he kept around him if his family was dead too! “So why did you ask me that question, then? What is the point of bothering with people if they wall die? You said my life is said, but yours is no better!” he shouted.

Marcus waited a moment for Shepard to cool down. There was no point in trying to yell back at him, even if he still could. “No, maybe I’m just as sad as you. But I can still be happy when I remember them.” His eyes turned watery. “Even if they are dead.”

Ah, death. The funny question. The inevitable fact. “Why even bother with people, then? All I know is that everybody dies alone. I’d rather just keep them at a distance and avoid the pain.”

Marcus rubbed the knuckles on one of his fingers, trying to ease the tingling pains and aches of old age. “Sure, everybody dies alone,” he agreed. “But if you mean something to someone, if you helped someone, or loved someone, if even a single person remembers you, then maybe…you never really die at all.”

Shepard started to laugh out of confusion. “What does that even mean, old man? My parents are dead, and they aren’t coming back.”

_ The ever-rebellious youth. Always trying to question wisdom.  _ “Your parents, do you love them?”

“Of course, what the hell are you talking-“

“When you came here, you asked me a question. You asked me to tell you who they were, what they were like.”

“Yes, and this has-“ Shepard met Marcus’ cold, hard gaze, one he knew well. He stopped talking.

Marcus nodded his head in appreciation of the commander shutting up. “I knew them…knew them well. So when they died, their memory, who they were as people, lives on with me. And now, it lives on with you. That is what’s called love.”

Shepard scoffed at Marcus’ conclusion; he even felt a little bit offended at someone doubting his commitment to his parents. “I do love them! That’s why I dedicated my life to finding the people responsible and killing them! For my parents, for what was done to them!”

_ _ “Your parents would not have wanted you to do this, to live for revenge and death. They would want you to live a happy life, to live for the happiness of others.” _You poor boy. “_ They would not have wanted this for you, never in a million years,” he repeated.

“Then **they shouldn’t have left me!”** Shepard roared in anger. But a second later, the full implications of what he had just said hit him. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that, and his rage evaporated only to be replaced by shame.

“Then, you never loved them. You just used them to justify your revenge as you hunted people down.”

John stayed quiet, too afraid to respond and hear what else came out of his mouth. His eyes started to water, and he put his hands over his face as if he were trying to hide himself.

* * *

Author’s note: Yay, I can finally begin to turn him around now! I loved writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. I left a hint. Let me know if you can find it because I am too evil to tell you myself.


	31. The farmer

A/N: It has certainly been a while. I’ve been busy, but I have more free time now. Expect more regular updates. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

He picked up the teacup. Its handle was warm from the boiling liquid that had been poured inside. The rising heat carried the scent of mint and tea leaves. He took a deep breath, inhaling the warm smell and letting it fill his lungs. He slowly brought the rim of the cup to his mouth and took a small sip, careful not to burn himself. The taste was unlike anything he had had before. It wasn’t synthetic bullshit flavoring; he’d seen the man put actual leaves in, turning the clear, boiling water into a brownish murkiness.

“You must be wondering why I said I knew you,” Marcus began. After the ending of their last conversation, he thought he would make some tea and calm the nerves.

“You weren’t the first Marcus I’ve met. Well, I guess maybe you are, since you said you knew me.” The name Marcus haunted Shepard. “I knew another one.”

“And, where is he?”

Shepard snorted. “Dead. I killed him.”

Marcus repositioned himself in his chair, a little unnerved by the revelation. But he forced a small smile on his face. “Then I endeavor not to end up like him.”

Shepard looked at the poor, old man. Was this the life he was condemned too, being surrounded by people who were constantly afraid of him? He gulped before speaking. “I…I’m sorry. You should know that I ended to inflict no harm on you. I promise.”

Marcus faintly smiled back at Shepard, filling him with warm, alien feelings. “I was left for dead in the ruins of my house. My family had been taken from me and killed in front of my eyes, and I was powerless to fight back.”

As John watched Marcus tell his story, he thought he could see him visibly age ten years and shrink further into his seat in shame. It saddened Shepard that this man had to suffer, to see so much taken from him; mostly because it reminded Shepard of himself: unable to stop the horrors that had happened to that which he cared for. And at this point in Shepard’s life, he’d already learned to care for nothing.

“And then, just as fast as the slavers had arrived and rounded everyone up, they left. And I was all alone.” Shepard held his cup of tea with both hands, warming his fingers as he tried to comfort himself. “I was barely able to stand up and watch this place burn to the ground. Fires were spread far into the distance. There was blood. Blood everywhere.”

Shepard’s set down his cup of tea and balled his fists. He was angry. “Did you cry?” Shepard asked.

“No, not yet. Sometimes it can take a while for the feelings to hit you. It hadn’t shown on the outside, but inside, I was… broken. I had lost everything and everyone I cared for. I wondered why they hadn’t taken me, killed me, enslaved me, instead of my family. I trudged through this place, walking aimlessly, without purpose. I can still remember the heat of the flames, the sting of ash in my eyes, the smell of death.”

Shepard watched as the man’s eyes turned glassy and lost focus as he relived his memories. “Eventually, I collapsed from exhaustion.”

The room, except for the sound of the crackling fireplace, was silent for a long time. Shepard waited patiently for Marcus to continue, but as the minutes dragged by, his curiosity and impulsiveness won out. “So what happened, did the alliance find you or…?” he left the question hanging in the air.

“They hadn’t arrived yet. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; the damage was done. No, I woke up again in the morning. It was quiet, so quiet. The fires had long ago burned away, the pirates had left. It was just me and nothingness. I… I wandered around for a long time, aimlessly, searching for something, but I wasn’t sure what. Maybe anything. Eventually, I reached the wreckage of a downed ship.”

“What kind?” Shepard asked, the soldier in him wanting to identify the ship.

Marcus shrugged his shoulders. “It was Batarian, no question about that. Maybe a fighter, by its size, but I couldn’t tell you.” He cleared his throat. “As I approached the ship, I noticed charred and splintered pieces of wood everywhere. It had crashed on a house, and I suddenly realized it was your parent’s house. Barely half of it remained, the other half having been destroyed by that ship. So, I walked towards it.”

Shepard picked up his tea. It was getting colder now, the liquid no longer blistering hot. He took a fuller sip this time and savored the flavor as it passed over his tongue. Without as much heat, he could taste all the rich flavor of the tea leaves. He would have enjoyed it more if he weren’t having such a depressing conversation.

“I could see an armored body lying face down on the ground, a couple of meters away from the aircraft. He lay in a pool of his own blood, dead. But I wasn’t happy with it. I took the gun holstered at his hip and shot him again.” Marcus snorted. “I don’t know what I was expecting, the body to cry out in pain or something, but the pilot had already been dead for a long time. The sound of the gun was eerie in a place so quiet, so devoid of life. I listened to it echo away into the distance and eventually fade into nothing.”

“And then I heard a scream. A single wail coming from the wreckage of the house. I thought I must have been imagining things in my delirium. Nonetheless, I approached the building. Maybe, against all odds, someone had survived. And I… I was right. I found you, buried under a mess of wooden beams. It was a miracle you hadn’t been killed. But, when I finally reached you…” Marcus paused, gulping in disgust at the memory, “you were holding an arm. A severed arm. I tried to pry you from the limb, but your arms just wouldn’t let go. When I looked closer at it, I realized something: it was your mother’s.”

Shepard closed his eyes for a second. Everything Marcus had said seemed so familiar to him. Except he couldn’t remember it. It felt like a weird scene of grim and morbid déjà vu. “How… how could you tell?”

“Your mother’s wedding ring was still on her finger. I was your father’s best man; I’d know that ring anywhere. It was nothing overly fancy, just a small diamond on a gold band. But it was your mother’s. So I now knew why you would not let go of that arm. I took the ring off her finger and put it in my pocket. It would be something I would keep to remember them by.”

“Then I tried to make you let go of that cold, stiff limb you couldn’t stop hugging. You were understandably stubborn, but eventually, you let go. I carried you out of the house in my arms. Your eyes were… wild. You didn’t even blink, just stared straight at me. I would have expected you to cry and scream, but you didn’t.”

“Why?”

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know. But it was concerning. Babies always cry, and you weren’t, despite your injuries. You had burns and cuts all over. I thought maybe it was because of all that had happened. Or maybe you’d already cried. But in that moment, I knew I couldn’t let you die. You were the last living memory of your parents. You survived what so many others didn’t. After having let so much slip through my fingers already, I wasn’t about to let you go to.”

John just stared blankly at the wall. He wasn’t sure what to feel. Angry, sad, grateful? But most of all, he was shocked. Shocked that someone had cared so much for him, because he felt like nobody ever had.

“I cared for you as best I could, but there was very little I could do, other than shield you from the cold or find you a sip of water. But as the hours dragged by, I knew you were dying, either from starvation or from your injuries. And there was nothing I could do to save you. You were cold, so cold, and I thought that you’d already died and that I was holding a dead body.”

“Yet, just when I was about to give up hope, I heard the roar of engines. For sure, I thought that this was it, that we would die now, that the pirates had returned. Armored soldiers started dropping from the sky, armed to the teeth. They found us, hiding in the wreckage of a barn. Just when I thought we would have died, one of them took off their helmet. It was a human, and I never thought I’d be so happy to see a random person. They took you away, and…”

Marcus never finished his sentence. “And what?”

“I never saw you again, John. Days later, when I was finally able to ask someone who knew about you, they said that they had already taken you to Earth, that it would be safer there for you.”

And so, Marcus’ story was finished. The two men sat in silence for a long time. Shepard’s mind was elsewhere, processing all the things that he had just heard. After god knows how long, Shepard spoke up, stating two, simple words: “Thank you.”

* * *

Alenko and Williams sat on a log, basically doing nothing. It was getting late in the afternoon, almost sunset. Shepard had yet to return. To be quite honest, Alenko wasn’t sure he would ever return. But two days still remained.

“So, what’s it like running around with the commander? Any different than being stationed on a planet?” Alenko asked.

“Well, it’s certainly been a crazy, busy couple of weeks, I will tell you that. But, for the most part, I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. We’re hunting down some of the worst of the worst. What could be more honorable than bringing them to justice? And I think the alliance picked the right person for the job.”

Alenko started to crack his knuckles, one-by-one, an old habit he’d developed ever since he was a kid. “For which job? Justice or hunting?”

Ashley sighed and picked up a twig. She started writing letters in the soft soil. “Fair enough. But it needs to be done. Sometimes, the best person for the job is the worst person. Too many lives are at stake. You saw what Saren did to Eden Prime. If we can stop that from happening again, then maybe the collateral damage is worth it.”

Kaiden looked over to see what Ashley was drawing on the ground. _A farmer,_ it read. “What you writing?” he asked.

She dropped the twig in her hand. “Oh, nothing.”

Kaiden poked her in the arm. “Liar.”

“Fine. It’s a poem I read a long time ago. It reminds me of all of this.” She started typing on her omnitool, searching up the full text of the poem. She patiently waited for the page to load, internally cursing the slow signal on this backwater planet. “Here,” she finally said as she held out her omnitool so Kaiden could see.

He began to read the poem out loud.

“A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone.”

“Crops are burned, animals slaughtered, bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about.”

“Everything that he loved taken from him - his children.”

“One can only imagine the pit of despair, the hours of Job-like lamentations, the burden of existence.”

“He makes a promise to himself in those dark hours. A life's work erupts from his knotted mind.”

“Years go by. His suffering becomes complicated.”

“One day he stops - the farmer who is no longer a farmer - sees the wreckage he's left in his wake.”

“It is now he who burns, he who slaughters, and he knows in his heart he must pay.”

Kaiden was never good at poetry, but he slowly put all the pieces together in his mind. Who the farmer was, the life’s work, the suffering, the wreckage. It all fits so perfectly. Except for the last part. He wasn’t sure that Shepard cared about the way he treated people or the things he had done. “Where’s it from? Also, you should show that to him.”

Ashley shut off her omnitool, suddenly very self-conscious. “Old TV show. And no, never. Don’t you dare tell him I showed you that. I don’t think he would be happy.”

Kaiden stood up, staring into the distance. He looked at the sky, a light orange that gradually faded into purple. It was almost like a painting. It was beautiful. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” he laughed. He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “You know what really scares me about him? However rash and brutal and evil all the rumors about him are, that was under alliance regulations. I fear the things he might do in the future, without the threat of any rules at all. And if the last weeks have been any indication, we all might end up dead sooner or later.”

Ashley snapped the twig in her hands in half before getting up too. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay to find Saren. He killed… everybody. Friends, families, even kids. I can’t remember being anymore afraid and scared than that day. And I prayed to God for help. I guess my prayers were answered. I…we couldn’t save everybody, but at least some people survived. If Shepard wasn’t there, everybody would have died.

Kaiden took a deep breath before turning to face her. “But you didn’t make a deal with God, you made it with the devil, that’s the problem. Shepard didn’t care about saving the colony. He did it because he enjoys killing. At the start of the mission, when we lost a private, I’ve never seen a commanding officer care so little. Even tried to stop me from helping the dying kid. That is the kind of man we are serving. And maybe that’s okay now, when he’s hunting down Saren. But then what do you do when he becomes the new rogue spectre, and you have to hunt him down? I’m scared that they gave somebody like him that much power.”

Ashley stayed silent. She wasn’t really sure what to say, mostly because she kinda agreed with everything Kaiden had said.

* * *

Marcus was rummaging through the bottom drawer of his dresser. He kept everything of true value to him here. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: the wedding ring, which had gone untouched for years, maybe even decades. And an old photo, its edges frayed and charred from a fire long, long ago. He slowly stood back up, his back in immense pain from having been bent over at his age. He slowly hobbled his way back to the living room and took a seat. He placed the two items in the center of the table. “Here, you should have these. They belong to you,” he said softly.

Shepard first picked up the ring, delicately lifting it off the table with two fingers. The band was made of gold and had a small, medium-sized diamond. Even in the dim light, it sparkled and shined. It must have cost a fortune. Shepard never understood why people would waste so much money on something like this. To him, the fact that you had to throw around money to get a person to care about you only reinforced his pessimistic view of human nature. Yet, to him, the ring still had infinite value, not because of what it was made of but because of who it had belonged to. He gently placed the ring on the table and picked up the second item: a photo. Its edges were burned off unevenly, but enough of it remained that he could see the subject of the photo. A man and a woman stood smiling, hugging each other. “Are these…”

“Yes. Yes. They. Are,” Marcus stated, enunciating each word.

These were his parents, there was no doubt about it. He could see the very features that he carried from each of them: the eyes, the face, the hair, and so on. He reached to touch his own face, almost as if he was touching his father’s. They looked happy, so happy.

The irony hurt. They looked so much like him; no shit, because they were his parents. But they were completely different people. What he saw in the photo was two people who enjoyed life and each other’s company; the smiles on their faces and the look in their eyes… these were good people. But Shepard, what the fuck was he? All he could see was the face he would wake up to every morning: sickly-colored bloodshot eyes, laced with hatred and disgust at the world around him and himself. No, these could never be his real parents. Sure, maybe they were biologically his parents, but they hadn’t been the ones to raise him, criminals had. He knew that if they had lived, he would be a completely different person. Feeling that he didn’t deserve to look at the photo any longer, he placed it face down on the table, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Marcus.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Shepard replied simply.

Marcus leaned forward in his chair. “I’ve only known you a short while, and even I can tell when you’re lying.”

Shepard started to nervously tap his fingers on the table. “It’s just I… I don’t deserve that photo.”

“Why?” Marcus asked, confused. “These are your parents. I’d rather no one else have it.”

Shepard sighed loudly before responding: “I’m not their son. That kid died a long time ago.”

“Nonsense. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”

“I’m a bad person, Marcus. I’m a soldier who travels the stars, killing people. If they’d known the depths I have gone to, the things I’ve done… they’d never call me their son. They help and care for people. Not like me, I break them.”

But Marcus refused to listen. “No, you’re still a good person” he insisted, “and you’re still their son.”

“Good?” Shepard laughed painfully, “I lost that part of myself a long time ago. I’m not sure if I can find it again.” He paused, before continuing, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not sure it matters anymore. You wouldn’t understand. Taking a life…you…you lose apart of yourself, something you can’t get back. It changes you.”

“I refuse to believe that crappy excuse,” Marcus replied sternly, “every day, you make a choice. You have that choice, no matter what you tell yourself, and I don’t care what you tell yourself. I suggest you use it and use it wisely. For there will come a day when you die, and in that moment, no matter how little you care about life, everything you’ve ever done, every regret or mistake, every missed hope and failed aspiration, will stare you straight in the face and make your last seconds of life a nightmare.” Marcus wagged an accusatory finger in Shepard’s direction. “So I suggest you stop making excuses and start being the person you want to be. Maybe your parents are dead, but they’d tell you exactly what I said. If you do give a damn, I suggest you heed this advice. If not, you have nobody to blame but yourself.”

Shepard’s eyes stared at Marcus, scanning his face. So old, yet such conviction remained. “I have everybody to blame. The world treats me like shit, and I’m supposed to help it! That’s not how this works. They deserve to suffer just as much as I have.”

Marcus violently shook his head, a little ashamed of what he was hearing. Maybe Shepard was right, he wasn’t their son. “You’re full of shit, you know that? One second, you say you’re not good enough of a person. The next, you question the value of being good at all.”

Shepard’s eyebrows popped up, stunned. “That’s not what I…”

“Now, I have a theory. You enjoy taking the path of most resistance, making life difficult for yourself. Why?” Marcus folded his hands in his lap, now confident in his argument.

Shepard laughed heartlessly, but he was anything but amused. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t know why you care so much. Just let me be. This is my life.”

Marcus sat there, looking straight into Shepard’s eyes. For a couple of seconds, he didn’t say anything, but he held Shepard’s undivided attention, nonetheless. Eventually, he spoke. “Maybe you’re used to having people give up on you. But, unfortunately for you, I’m not that kind of person.”


	32. Cogito Ergo Sum

The sun had long ago set. Shepard had lost track of time, engrossed in the conversation. Well, it was more of a debate than a conversation. By the time Shepard had regained awareness of how late it truly was, it was already late into the night. “I think I should go. It’s getting late, and I think I’ve taken enough of your time.”

The man chuckled before responding. “No, no you’ve taken no time at all. I’m an old man anyway, what better way to spend it than with visitors.”

John’s face remained stoic, even as he said “thank you” and began to get up.

Marcus looked out the window to see… nothing. “It’s too late for you to go trudging through the woods back to your ship.” It was pitch black out there, and he would feel too guilty. “You should stay the night.”

An exasperated sigh escaped from Shepard before he replied. “I’ve taken enough of your time already.”

“But it was time well spent, and it wouldn’t bother me, not in the slightest.”

Shepard’s head tilted to the side, his eyes suddenly becoming serious. “You put too much trust in people, especially strangers.”

Marcus snorted. Understanding what Shepard meant, he found it sadly comical. “Well, I don’t have much to lose anyway. What could you possibly take from me that I already don’t have? And besides, you’re no stranger, not to me. There’s an extra bedroom down the hallway if you would like.”

Shepard slowly sat back down in his chair. He would take this man’s offer of shelter, but not of sleep. He didn’t feel like sleeping. He’d rather savor and remember every moment of his time here; he might not return in a long time, and if he died out there before then, he would never return. Marcus spoke his farewells and left, leaving Shepard sitting all alone, staring into the smoldering and dying fire in front of him.

He hated sitting around and having nothing to do. It made him think, and thinking always brought him down a dark path of painful ideas and self-doubts. His mind was a storm of thoughts, despite his quiet and uncharacteristically calm exterior. He felt the presence of the now-vacant room around him. A dying fire crackling opposite from him, the furniture in the living room, the lights that cast an eerie golden glow over everything. What he was feeling, it was existence, and he hated it. The feel of everything, the rough clothes on his back, the warm air on his skin, the residual taste of tea in his mouth, the light that met his eyes, it all felt like a poison, slowly creeping into his soul, blackening everything. Existence was a curse; it was meaningless; it was pain. But most of all, it is arbitrary. It must be, because the world was so absurd, random, and chaotic. Disorder and agony defined everything. People were alive one day and died the next, seemingly at random; few ever got the privilege of knowing when they would die, and it was debatable if knowing how much time you had left was a gift or a curse. Yet most people always hoped for the next day, hoped that it would bring them happiness and relief from their pain and suffering. But no, it only brought them one day closer to death, whether they realized it or not.

Shepard knew firsthand how little meaning life had. He was convinced that man was not born with some internal essence, purpose, or destiny. No, they were all just collections of atoms in one big soup of atoms, randomly colliding with one another, without choice. Free will, what an idealist concept! To believe that some spirit or consciousness of mankind could somehow break the rules that all the particles in all our cells obey, the very cells that make our organs and bodies and most importantly, brains, was pure fantasy. In this sense, existence was so ironic, at least to him. On one hand, it was so ordered and rule-based, being governed by the laws of physics that not even he could begin to comprehend or understand. But on the other hand, what did all this order result in? Chaos, anarchy, death, and destruction. It was…inevitable; the rules of the universe foretold it. He questioned why he did anything at all, if all we were to end up as was a pile of bones, rotting in the field or cremated into ashen dust. Why strive to build and create when it could all so easily come down? Why not just embrace the chaos and welcome the inevitable with open arms, maybe even help it along its journey.

This is why he hated himself. He hated himself because he knew all these truths, that life was meaningless and contradictory and arbitrary, and yet despite all that, he could not get rid of the small part of himself that cared. Not that that part of himself ever really influenced his actions, but it was always there, watching him, judging him, making him feel like utter crap. It made him feel weak that he cared because all of his experiences told him that he shouldn’t. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never cast it aside. It was embedded in him, like a parasitic worm, eating away at his sanity, slowly driving him insane with guilt and sadness and despair. He didn’t want to feel this way, but he did. And instead of curing his infection, visiting this place seemed only to spread it. The worm was now buried deeper than ever, multiplying, infecting, grafting itself into his mind.

It made him angry. Angry at the world, because it wasn’t fair. Angry that he cared, because it wasn’t logical. And most of all, angry at himself, because he could not fix either the world or himself. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how far he was willing to go to get the job done (whether for himself or for others), he could not find peace. It wasn’t fair! Why did other people always get what he wanted? Why did the little things he did have disappear, day by day and year by year? He so badly wished to end his existence, to destroy his awareness and just be like all the objects around him, without essence or thought or problems. But he couldn’t do it; he was too weak.

He was unsure that death would provide him with the answers he was looking for anyway. No one truly knew what lay afterward; and he was scared, scared that if there was something, he would be cast to the worst and darkest regions. Even then, he found the act of ending his own existence somewhat enraging. He was a stubborn asshole who never gave up, who never allowed someone to tell him no or that he couldn’t do something. To kill himself, to let the pain of existence and the unfairness of the universe defeat him was irreconcilable with what little he did value. He would not surrender, he would not fall down, not until he won or until everything around him was nothing more than dust in the wind.

He came here wanting answers, specifically about his past. But he would be leaving with more questions than he came with.

For starters, did he even deserve to be here, to make amends with his past? What right did he have, knowing that he had robbed so many others of that same choice? He was antithetical to everything this place was and to everything that his parents were. But that begged yet another question again: why did he care? He wanted to stop caring, for the innocent baby that left here was not the same mangled wreck that had returned; he was a blight on this place, a blight on the name of goodness. Oddly enough, maybe he was as innocent as a baby in some regards. While some parts of him were so old and broken, black and rotting, others had seldom been used or developed. It was as if he were a car, but some parts were aged by 100,000 miles while others were fresh off the factory floor. He was a hodgepodge of experience about pain, and inexperience about how to live; fully functional, but not comfortable.

Why does everything hurt? He thought that after a life of being abandoned, left for dead and suffering, his skin would have been made tough enough to withstand anything. Well, his skin was, but his mind? Not so much. He still felt just as broken and lonely as the first day of his life that he actually remembered. He had a hole inside of himself, a hole that he did not know how to fill or why he cared about filling it in the first place. He had been searching for something this whole time, but he did not know what. And every time that he felt himself about to achieve something, he felt it slip out of his hands like everything else in his life, leaving him angry, hurt, and afraid to try again.

Why do we exist? Yes, the classic question. Two horrifying possibilities existed. One, God made this terribly horrifying and evil place. Who would do that? What kind of person would bother to create a person such as John Shepard? Or two, they were just random accidents who refused to accept that they had no purpose, despite what they believed. Shepard liked neither answer, and maybe that was a contradiction, but humans are messy creatures, after all. We are all people who go out searching for meaning in a world we cannot even begin to understand, mumbling in ignorance as we fight over pure conjecture.

But his biggest question was what the hell he should be doing. Before, he thought he knew. But he achieved his goal already. Or at least, he thought he did. How stupid he was to think that killing one ship captain would have fixed everything. Thousands of pirates had probably been involved in that raid; it was impossible to track them all down and find the revenge he was looking for. And the one pirate he did kill came at a great cost: dozens of clueless people, people so like his parents, good, hardworking people, dead. Was he condemned to being a walking slaughterhouse for the rest of his days, spreading misery and suffering so people could be just as miserable as him? With every day that went by, he felt that the answer was yes. But there had to be more, he… had to be more.

Unfortunately, sitting alone, late at night, was not conducive to staying awake. His eyes grew heavy, but he did not want to sleep. So he resigned to simply closing his eyes for a brief moment, resting them before he would open them again. Except his eyes never did open again. A man so sleep deprived such as himself would seldom be able to resist sleep’s clutches in such a cozy place.

* * *

Everything was black. He could not see. Everything was silent. He could not hear. It was just him and the knowledge of himself. John was alone and afraid. He grasped out into the darkness, searching for something, anything, to contrast against the void. As he moved his hands, he felt like he was moving through molasses. He tried to take a breath, exhaling through his nose, but when he tried to breathe in again, nothing filled his lungs. He tried again, but nothing came, and his lungs burned. He waved his arms and legs around in a panic, struggling against the viscus liquid around him.

In his frenzied swim, blind to anything in front of him, he eventually hit a collection of rocks. He tried to swim past it, but no matter how far he went, the rocks were still there. It was a wall of sediment. He smashed his arm against the wall, angry and upset. His lungs felt like fire, but he could still inhale nothing. He tried to swim back from where he came, an impossible task in the dark. Eventually, he hit something else, but it was the same wall. He tried again, and again, and again, and no matter where he swam he was confronted with the same obstacle. He was boxed in, like a caged animal.

He began to attack the wall, savagely clawing at it and tearing bits and pieces off. He threw a punch, and his fist when several inches inside the wall. He pulled back his hand, tearing away the strangely smooth material. Piece by piece, chunk by chunk, inch by inch. But no matter how hard he tried, how far he went, the wall was still there. He ceased his efforts. Without oxygen, his tired limbs burned and ached, losing strength and sometimes refusing to follow his commands. He gave up, slamming both his arms int the wall in front of him. He tried to feel it with his hands to get a sense of what it was. As his right hand traced the patterns in the rock, he realized something: this was not rock, it was bone. Disgusted, he pushed himself off, for he feared this more than he feared the unknown and meaningless void. But the wall, with all its thousand hands, reached out towards him, grabbing his body and pulling it back. He struggled against his attacker, snapping its bones in half and tearing them off himself in great handfuls. But more just took its place, wrapping around him, encasing him. He found himself unable to move, suffocating in despair. The bones began to squeeze even tighter, crushing and squeezing the life out of him. He began to hear snapping and popping noises, but it was not the bones around him, it was his ribs breaking under the strain. He was in indescribable agony, the pain enough to jolt him awake.

His eyes shot open, and he was relieved that he could actually see this time. He took ragged, deep breaths, thankful that he could now breathe. His body was covered in sweat. He was scared. He didn’t know why, as he couldn’t always remember the dreams that haunted his sleep. But he could tell that they were anything but pleasant.

Shepard got up from his chair, no longer comfortable there, and approached a window. It was still night outside. Why couldn’t he sleep through the night, just for once? Was it too much to ask?! He would only ever get enough sleep to be functional, but never enough to feel rested. He always blamed it on being in the front lines or sleeping in uncomfortable barracks. However, he was on a comfy sofa this time!

His brow was furrowed in anger as he made his way towards the front door. As he opened it, a wave of cold air hit his sweaty skin, causing him to shiver and his eyes to water. But he’d faired far worse before. If he couldn’t find peace anywhere, then there was no reason to be anywhere. Yet, he felt like something was wrong. He felt guilty, and he hated that he felt guilty. Shepard wanted so badly to not care about anything, but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. His impulses were simply too strong this time.

He retreated back inside the house, looking for something, anything, he could leave a note on. His eyes caught an old, wooden credenza. _That’s where one would keep them, right?_ He flung open its doors, and in the dark recesses of the cabinet, he found a stack of notepads. Shepard quickly flipped through them, trying to find a blank page. He saw rows and rows of numbers, some with dollar signs, others with abbreviated units. They were probably Marcus’ crop yield records or something of the like, but he’d never be able to tell. Finding a blank page, he ripped it out and grabbed one of the pens he found in a pencil box. He found it odd that anyone still used these crud implements, let alone had them in their home. But he was grateful he found them because he didn’t have the balls to face this man one last time. Shepard was a coward at heart, and hell was other people. They judged you and made you want to crawl back into your own shell.

He placed the sheet of paper on the desk. It had been years since he’d written anything by hand, not since barely passing officer school at the N7 academy. Yes, his only formal education: war. He pressed the tip of the pen to the paper and began to write big, crooked letters and misspelled words on the page. No autocorrect would be helping him this time.

“Dear Marcus,

Your probly wondering were I went. Im ashamed to say I left, but I couldn’t handle it. It was nothin you did, it was me. I dont belong hear, and I think you now that. But I didn’t want to leave without saying anything. Well, I guess I just wanted to say thank you. You were very nice. Nicer than most people I’ve met, and probably nicer then I’ll ever bee. I know I’m a difficult person, I have bin all my life. But you didn’t mind. I guess it was only for one day, but it’s more than most would handle. I hope this quiet little town stays as it is. I probably will not hear from you again. But if you watch the news, you’ll probably hear about me. I never wanted that attention, nor do I pay attention to it, because I know the media doesn’t know what I know, that I’m not as heroic or glamorous as they make me out to be. But you will probably see me out there, nonetheless, for better or for worse. I’ll probably die, before you do if my luck has anything to say about it. But until then, you’ve given me an impossible burden that I will have to carry each day that I’m alive. I hate my life. Hell, I hate everything. I’m not sure why you think so highly of me because I don’t deserve it. I’m not sure I can be the man you think I am, or the one you or my parents would have wanted me to be. That’s the burden. If you are feeling down after reading this, cheer yourself up knowing that you are not me. Your a far, far better man than I could ever be, and the end you go to will be far nobler than my own.

I would also feel guilty if I didn’t leave this: jshepard54@earth_systems_alliance.net. In case you ever need anything serious; I am a Council Spectre, after all.

Regards,

John Charles Shepard

He put down the pen on top of the letter. It felt odd to write his middle name because he’d never done it before. It was not even legally official, it just felt like the right thing to do. And it reminded him of something else. He walked over to the table from earlier. The empty tea kettle sat in the middle, and two empty cups resided at either end. He picked up what he was looking for. He put the ring in the pocket of his jeans and carefully tucked the photo into the pocket of his jacket. He would not leave these things here, even though he could feel them weighing him down. He would not insult the man by denying this request.

He exited the house, hopped down the steps, and walked down the dirt path. The night air really was freezing, each breath he took making his chest feel cold. He looked to the sky, a scattershot of bright twinkling stars. Somewhere out there was Saren and his geth armies, plotting to destroy everything. This galaxy, it was infinite, with endless possibilities and places. He felt like nothing compared to it. Well, he was nothing. We all are. The galaxy would always be here, no matter how many times we wiped ourselves out or killed each other in wars. When people say that “the entire galaxy” is at risk, they are wrong. He’d learned that the galaxy will be just fine. We are the ones at risk, trying to sustain what little we have for a little while longer before it all inevitably disappears. It was so useless because everything ended, that was the nature of life; or rather, the nature of death. But there is freedom in death. After you die, nothing you do matters anymore. Death was the great equalizer. You can postpone it via certain means, but once it takes you, you’re done, finished, annihilated. The parts you leave behind are not you, they are somebody’s mediocre recollection of who you were, if they bothered to remember you at all. He remembered what Marcus had said: if a person remembers you, then maybe you never really die. But what happens when the people who remember you die? What happens when the people who remembered those people die? Sure, maybe if you are famous you would be remembered. Now that he was a war hero, and let’s not forget, humanity’s first spectre, he’d be remembered, for better or worse, for a long time. But why does that matter? Why do we care who or how others remember us? He sure as hell didn’t. He lived his life how he wanted. He lived to…

He couldn’t complete that thought because he didn’t know what he lived for, except for revenge or spite or out of general hatred for the world. Maybe as a body, he wasn’t dead, but what was inside surely was. He realized the things he would be remembered for: not the person that he was, but the things he had done. This thought depressed him. What was even more depressing? He realized that if he was remembered for the former option, it would be just as bad as the latter. Again, for the millionth time that night, he wondered why he cared at all. He didn’t know the answer, but we do. He was born a normal person, not a psychopath. If his parents had never died, he would be a very different person, even he knew that. See, it isn’t always what manifests itself that matters. Potential is often just as important. At heart, we all intuitively know what is wrong or right. Our potential speaks to the goodness of our nature, but the world has a way of trying to steal it from us. For some people, it becomes like a silent gene, always there, slowly watching in the background, but never really expressed. People are all conscious of the gene’s existence, but that doesn’t mean they have to act on it. Sometimes, that silent gene turns on sporadically, triggered by one event or another; not enough to effect change, but maybe just enough to make us see what we’ve done. It is…painful.

* * *

A/N: I don’t know, I like it when I right using “stream of consciousness.” It’s fun, at least for me. Hope you like it too. I’ll try not to overdo it in the future.


	33. Noveria

(Two weeks later, somewhere in Space)

Liara was asleep in the back room of the Normandy's infirmary. She sat in a chair, and leaning forward, rested her head on the desk. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement, but it was better than being confined to those suffocating sleeper pods. Hell, this entire experience was terrible: she was essentially a prisoner, being kept on a warship destined for certain doom, at the command of a council spectre. What could be worse?

She was jolted awake by a loud clanging on the door. She groaned loudly. She didn't need to look at a watch to tell that it was way too early for it to be morning already. "Come in."

Shepard appeared, standing at the door. "We need to talk."

Liara sat up in her chair, straightening her back. "About what, commander?"

The door closed behind Shepard, and he leaned against the wall next to it, his arms crossed. "Your mother," he stated simply.

Liara's eyes widened a bit. "Commander, I've already told you everything I know about her. If I had anything else, I would have already told you." _So this is why he woke me up at 3 in the morning, to ask for the millionth time about my mother?_ "What does 'I haven't seen her in decades' mean to…"

Shepard let out a loud sigh, indicating that he wasn't too keen on listening to her whine any longer. "Intel is telling me they spotted your mother on Noveria. We're headed there now. But I thought I'd ask you before we get there: any clue why she's there?"

Liara still couldn't get over the fact that her mother was working for Saren. But, was she any better? She'd seen the commander's mind the day she was rescued from Therum. Sometimes, it got difficult to tell which hazy visions were those from the beacon and which were the commander's. John Shepard could be summed up in three words: murderer, despicable, and most of all, evil. He was the kind of person that belonged in a jail cell, barred from ever seeing the light of day. Actually, make it solitary confinement in a jail cell, because she wasn't sure his cellmate would be safe. Nevertheless, she couldn't just get up and leave. She was in the custody of a council spectre. He hadn't said she was a prisoner, but when she was told "you're not leaving" the message was pretty clear. But she couldn't say anything, not a word. She didn't want to end up dead, or worse… She had to learn to hide what she was thinking and act like everything was okay, when in reality, she was scared and disgusted. Unfortunately, hiding her thoughts involved answering the commander's question.

"Noveria? It's a corporate world outside of council control. A lot of companies rent out space to conduct experiments and research. But I don't know why my mother would be there."

Shepard's hand went to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it with three fingers as he closed his eyes. He was pissed. He was flying around the galaxy on the basis of a rumor, without any information, potentially walking into a trap. Why did he bother? Why not just let them all die? Wars happen all the time, and so does people dying. He'd seen it all.

"Was she ever involved in any research before, maybe somewhere else?" he asked. Yes, maybe he had seen it all. Maybe he was a nihilist. Maybe the galaxy didn't deserve it. But he wasn't doing it for the galaxy. He decided that he was doing it for himself. His motives were complex, but given almost a week with nothing to do aboard the Normandy other than sleep, eat, and wait for any news, he'd had a lot of time to think. For starters, he wished he had a time machine, gone back, and fixed everything before it all went so wrong.

"No, she was a political and religious figure. She worked at an asari temple on Thessia. She wasn't involved in anything that would involve labs. At least, that's as far as I know." She gulped, her heartbreaking in two. "But after what she's done, I'm not sure I knew her as well as I used to believe I did." The woman she knew as her mother was no longer there.

Now, Shepard just stood there, staring at the floor, his mind lost. He'd always been too late. For his parents, almost 30 years. For Akuze, about a week. For Eden Prime, less than an hour. But now, he had a chance to do some good, to save the galaxy. He wanted to save them, not because he cared about them, but because he was scared. He was scared that he'd die the man the world had made him become, and not the man he wanted to be. No, it wasn't the world that made him this way. The world had just given him a series of tough choices, and he'd always chosen wrong. He had been the one to make himself this way. But maybe, just for once, he could try and do something he would be proud to tell his parents. He could try and stop the reapers before they came. And he knew that on the slim probability he ever completed this mission, he would again feel empty, devoid of purpose. He'd still failed to answer the question of what to do with his life, so he'd decided to put his skills to use towards something nobler. All he knew was killing, but maybe if he took the right lives….

No, he knew it would never be enough to make up for the things he had done; he didn't even deserve the chance, because there was no coming back. He was never a hero, he would never be called one, and he didn't want to be one. He just wanted to look at that photo, to look at his parent's eyes, and not have to look away in shame and guilt. Every time he tried, they were always watching him, judging him in shame. They probably always would, but he at least wanted to say, "I tried." He did not know why he cared so much for people he could not remember. Maybe it was because he was all that was left of them.

Unfortunately, even he knew that his thoughts and hopes of change were ephemeral. Sooner or later, he'd return back to what he was. Probably sooner than later, because he had no control during the rush of combat. And to think that one, half-burnt photo would reverse 30 years of habits was ridiculous. No, people never really change. There would be no hope. His only sure guarantee was that this mission would probably kill him, although he wasn't sure if his body or his mind would go first.

"Commander?"

Hearing Liara speak, his trance was broken. He blinked his eyes rapidly, as they were getting watery from having been open for so long. "Yes?" he said in a hoarse whisper. No, there would be no coming back. _Just get the job done. Do what you've always done. It's all I know._

She wasn't sure what scared her more. The commander when he was rude and angry, or the commander when he looked genuinely afraid and lost. "Is there…anything else?"

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Ya, um… If we do run into your mother, I don't know how it's going to turn out. I'm giving you the choice, because if it were me, I'm not sure what I would do, but if you want, you can come along. I'm not sure if you want to be there, you know, when we face your mother. I'm not going to lie to you, it can, most likely will, get ugly." Well, Shepard only partially cared about Liara and her mother. What he was secretly hoping was that Liara would come along because she would prove useful in stopping Benezia. Having that asari bitch face her daughter might distract her in combat or help to pry information out of her.

Liara stared at the floor, unable to meet the commander's gaze. She'd noted the change in his voice, his stuttering and the somewhat incoherent syntax of his sentences, the quivering weakness in his voice as he finished. Something had been very off about the commander lately; he was actually… no, caring wasn't the right word… indifferent, that was it. Why, however, she couldn't possibly fathom. "Yes, I would like more than anything to face my mother again, to put a stop to her. If it is anyone, it should be me." Unfortunately, the strength and determination she conveyed in her words were nothing but for show. She did not know how she would face her mother and ask her why she was doing all of this. She questioned if she even had the strength to do what needed to be done if it came down to it. Would she be able to kill her mother to save the galaxy if that's what needed to happen? No child should have to make such a decision.

Shepard nodded his head, pleased with her decision. He was just bringing her along as a tool to use against her mother. It was sad and manipulative, but bigger things were at stake than a daughter-mother relationship. I mean, he grew up without parents, so it couldn't be all that bad, right? At least he was giving Liara one last chance to say goodbye before he interrogated, and probably killed, Benezia.

* * *

The armor she wore was heavy on her delicate frame. The slight weight of the sidearm at her hip made her feel like she was walking off balance. But these were the minimum precautionary measures that had been taken to keep her safe. Shepard had tried giving her a spare set of heavy armor, but she couldn't even walk in it, so she was given this set. It was human military armor, so the fit wasn't perfect, but it was close enough that it would provide adequate protection and still allow movement.

They all stood in the airlock as it ran its decontamination protocol. Shepard stood closest to the door, his arms crossed, impatiently waiting for the doors to open. Tali and Garrus were on her left, while Ashley was at parade rest on her right. Soon enough, the Normandy's airlock opened, and the team was hit with a cold blast of air. None of them really felt it, except the Turian, who had insisted on walking into every engagement without a helmet. But the humidity in the air rapidly condensed on all their armors, covering them in a thin veil of frost.

Shepard started marching forward undisturbed. His suit's climate control had taken care of everything, and that was that. The rest of his team tentatively followed him, looking around the quiet space dock for any signs of life. But it was quiet, except for the howling of the wind outside. It was the calm before the storm.

John continued to walk down the gangway. He placed his right hand on his hip, preparing for the occasion that he would need to draw his sidearm. And, as always, his combat instincts were right. There were hostiles; well, sort of. Alarms started to blare, and flashing red warning lights turned the bluish of the cold metal surroundings into bright red. A trio of armed officers rushed towards their position, weapons drawn, ready to confront them. John was a soldier, and he was always ready to defend himself. But most of all, he was a killer, and he had no qualms about murdering others. He did not like having to tolerate a weapon being pointed at his face.

"Put your hands in the air, now!" they barked at him. But his hand was already at his hip, caressing the handle of his pistol.

His mind processed the situation, trying to find a possible solution, but there were only so many options he had to choose from. The officer's weapons were standard stock assault rifles, probably unmodded. They would be unable to seriously harm him, especially if they were 'dispatched' in a timely fashion. One of the officers was clearly new at this; her stance was uneven, the way she held her rifle left much to be desired, and he could see the slight shaking in her hands. The second officer was rather…generic. Nothing he had to worry about in the grand scheme of things. However, the clearest threat was the tall Asian officer, the one who had been barking orders at him. She was older than her comrades, and clearly the person in charge; it was possible that she had military experience, but he only had enough time to tell that she had experienced tough situations before. He calculated all the possibilities that could break out, and he decided on one: knocking them off their feet with biotics while he and his team dispatched them. Well, that was what he usually did anyway, but that didn't mean he didn't consider other possible scenarios for killing the officers. His mind always worked like this, towards one goal: inflicting maximum damage.

The officers saw the rest of Shepard's team behind him, in addition to his already imposing figure. They held their ground 4 meters from him, guns pointed, fingers on the trigger. "You are not authorized to enter this Port with weapons. Put your hand's in the air, now!" the lead officer repeated.

Shepard was feeling pretty confident about the situation. "First of all, I, nor my team, are giving up our weapons. Second, I suggest you reconsider where you are pointing those weapons. It would be a terrible day to shoot at us."

"Ha! Do you think I listen to lawbreakers? If you don't comply, we will be forced to use lethal force! That! Is final!"

The first officer shuffled her feet, slowly retreating backward. The second officer looked at the lead, almost as if he were silently questioning her orders.

"If you shoot us, it would be terribly painful," Shepard stated. The Asian woman furrowed her brow, a little confused. Shepard caught on to this, and didn't miss a beat with his reply: "painful for you, of course."

The two sides stood facing one another on the walkway, waiting for the other to make the first move. The officers didn't want to make the first move, because they were almost certain about how it would end. And Shepard, well, he just didn't care enough. However, he knew sooner or later that if these cops didn't let them through, there would be a problem, and probably a violent one.

Shepard's team was less than enthused about all of this. Garrus wasn't all too keen on having to get into a fight with officers, even though he knew that they could sometimes be assholes. Ashley believed that this situation could be resolved without anyone dying. Tali was scared, but she would follow whatever actions those around her would take; she did not want to die or put them at risk. Liara was feeling rather helpless; she was armed only with a simple pistol, as she couldn't handle anything else. She only had her biotics to protect her and possibly, the team. But she wasn't looking forward to using them in the services of killing police officers. She had seen Shepard's mind, and she had a faint feeling of what he was thinking of doing.

But thankfully for both sides, no bloodshed would happen. A screech echoed down the hallway, painfully garnering their attention; a loudspeaker had been turned on. "Captain Matsuo stand down! Commander Shepard's identity has been confirmed. Council Spectre's can carry arms on Port Hanshan."

The officers lowered their weapons and Shepard's team allowed themselves to relax a little bit. Shepard retracted his hand from his hip, although somewhat reluctant. He was sure he was going to have to use his weapon, but for now, he'd been stopped. He felt it wrong to simply come to terms with people that had pointed weapons in his face only seconds ago. But he consoled himself in the fact that there would probably be plenty of violence today. Many people would die: Saren's henchmen, innocents caught in the crossfire, and many, many more people. There would be violence and death today, he wasn't so sure he needed to add to that over a misunderstanding.

* * *

"What do you mean I need a garage pass? Can't I just go now? I don't have time for this," Shepard insisted.

"Commander, I wish I could help you, I really do, but I don't run this place. I don't have the ability to give you access, and if administrator Anoleis won't give you one…" she trailed off.

Shepard smashed his gauntlet on the counter in front of him. "I need to get to that facility. If not, you and everyone on this planet, are probably as good as dead. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Gianna Parasini gulped as she tried to pick her next words very carefully. She was a spy, and one wrong step could completely ruin her entire plan to bring down Anoleis. But she also had to consider who could be helping her: John Shepard, plus his odd, but apparently competent compatriots. She decided now was the time to play her hand. "Commander, while I cannot help you directly, I may know someone who can. Go to the lounge and look for Lorik Qui'in. He just might be able to help you find what you need."

The commander sighed, but it came out as more of a growl than anything else. A relatively inhuman sound that he somehow produced, and it was frightening. He slowly lowered his helmet back on his head, causing the face of John Shepard to gradually be replaced by the red skull etched into the front of his helmet. _A truly terrifying sight indeed,_ she decided. It was a blessing that he may unwittingly help bring down Anoleis. She could only hope he was too dumb to notice that she was using him. But to be fair, wasn't he trying to use her too? No, this was a mutually beneficial exchange. She should have nothing to worry about.

* * *

The turian stroked his mandible, contemplating his options. If Anoleis found that evidence, he might as well be the one convicted. He sure as hell couldn't go into his office and fight the cops for it. But a council spectre? He will do nicely. And all it would cost himwas a stupid garage pass. With it, the spectre and his team would head to almost certain death, but it wasn't his problem. "Listen Commander, I think we can come to an arrangement. What's that human phrase? I scratch your toes you scratch mine? No that can't be… Never mind. I need you to get something for me. From my office."

Shepard immediately knew that something was off. After all, why couldn't the turian walk into his office himself? "What exactly are you sending me into here?"

The turian chuckled nervously, trying to pass off the task as a light burden. "Well, my office is being ransacked by cops. I can't exactly stroll in there. There is a file on my computer." He fished a memory OSD from his pocket and put it on the table. "Take this, it will automatically find and download the file once you connect it to my computer."

Shepard snatched the OSD and got up abruptly. _Always favors, always more favors! Why doesn't anyone just do anything for free if it doesn't cost them anything?_ He was grumpy and looking forward to getting this job over with; but then once he got the OSD returned, he would have another job. He was increasingly seeing life as an infinite regress with no end in sight. But Tali wasn't so comfortable walking into a shootout with cops; at least, not without a good reason. "What's on your computer, and why are the cops looking for it?" she demanded. The rest of the team wanted to ask a similar question, but couldn't work up the courage to do so.

John whipped around, shooting daggers at her. Sometimes, you didn't ask what the job was for, you just did it. It was simpler that way. Before he could open his mouth to reprimand her, the turian answered her question: "I have evidence that the Administrator of this port has been artificially raising rent prices to benefit himself. I got this evidence, and he doesn't want me to have it. So, he had me fired and put me under 'investigation'" he mocked with air quotes. "Now, he has his corrupt cops in my office!"

John started to laugh quietly to himself, shaking his head and smiling. Yep, these were cops all right. Corrupt as ever. And this turian was clearly very upset about it. "Come on, guys. We have an office to storm."

* * *

The door opened, revealing a vast, two-floored area, complete with walkways, stairs, and marble architecture. Whoever that turian worked for, they clearly had cash. Several officers were visible, and the nearest ones turned to face him, palm outstretched. "Halt! This area is under investigation. Visitors are not allowed."

He could see that two of the officers that had confronted him earlier were also here. _I guess they will die today anyway._ Shepard wasn't going out of his way to kill them, but if they were in the way, what was he supposed to do? "Not a visitor. I'm council spectre John Shepard. You are going to let me pass."

One of the officer's crossed her arms, clearly the one in charge of this corrupt operation. "You are not going anywhere but out the door you came from. This area is under investigation, and I can't have you interfering."

Shepard sighed. Looks like they would get in the way. A pity. But at least he gave them the chance. "Okay, I don't have time for your fucking corrupt schemes. I'm going to get what I came here for. You're going to have to tell Anoleis or whoever the fuck is paying you that you failed. But you get to leave with your lives. How's that sound?" His helmet, which had been tucked under his arm so he could show his face, was now placed on his head.

One of the officers equipped her weapon and pointed it at them. "You know what we did with cop killers from the town I came from?" One of the officers at her side turned and ran away, taking Shepard's offer. "Coward," she whispered under her breath.

Shepard signaled for his team to get ready and equipped his shotgun. "I wouldn't know. They never showed up unless it was a murder. At least where I'm from!" he yelled back. He slowly started to walk down the steps, his gun pointed at the floor, still signaling that these people could leave. But the cop wasn't budging.

"Kill them!" she roared as she started to spray bullets with her rifle.

Shepard jumped high into the air, clearly showing off, before punching the ground with his biotics as he came back down. A wave of energy lifted three of the cops off their feet and into the air. His team stormed the area, making short work of them. But there were still more of them, and this place was vast; they could be hiding anywhere.

Two powerful shots echoed around the room, and a body came tumbling from a second-story railing, landing with a sickening crack. "Hostile's second floor!" Garrus yelled

"Williams, on me! Garrus, Tali, Liara, secure this floor!" Shepard ran down the hallway with his shotgun, making his way towards the second floor's stairs. Another officer was running down towards him, fumbling with his weapon, but John simply body-slammed him. Williams finished him off as Shepard reached the top of the stairs. There were three cops. All pointing weapons at him from different directions: they were trying to set up a kill box. Well, Shepard was going to throw a wrench in that plan. He jumped towards the officer on his left, who was the closest. She had pulled down on the trigger of her weapon, but Shepard was already on her, and he easily deflected her aim with one arm. With the other arm, he fired his shotgun at her stomach at point-blank. Her cheap armor was useless against such a powerful blast, and a chunk of her abdomen was missing. She instantly collapsed to the floor, still in shock, but the life was rapidly draining from her eyes.

By now, Williams had reached the top of the staircase. She crouched behind a wall and started firing her sniper at the remaining cops, pinning them. Shepard used this opportunity to close the distance. He hopped over the cover they were using and started the process of killing them. One had tried to fire her sniper at him from down below, but he grabbed the weapon by the barrel and pointed it away from him. The shot went off, narrowly missing his head. John fired his shotgun at the other cop. And then there was one.

The last cop let go of his sniper, rolling backward and reaching for the sidearm strapped to his waist. Shepard jumped after him, tackling him. They started fighting each other on the floor, but it was no use: Shepard was clearly bigger and stronger. He kept landing punches and elbows at the man's helmet. Bit by bit, it started to chip and crack until it could no longer protect him. The impact of his strikes was now hitting the cop full in the face, turning Shepard's gauntlets bloody. Ashley approached the situation, her gun still raised and ready to fire. But the endeavor was quite useless, as she could easily hit Shepard; and the way things were going, it looked like he didn't need the help. Eventually, the man could no longer fight back. His face had been completely disfigured, and he could barely breathe. Shepard got up, staring and slightly admiring his handiwork.

Ashley could only shake her head in disgust. She approached the body, aimed at his head, and fired. She had put him out of his misery. He was dead anyway; two more minutes wouldn't have mattered; and there was no reason to let Shepard enjoy this.

"Garrus, top's clear. How about you guys?" Shepard asked over the comm.

"Ya, we subdued a bunch of them. Only had to kill two. Get this, used their own handcuffs to tie them to the railing."

Shepard internally questioned Garrus' judgment. His instincts and years of combat told him that it was much better to just kill them in case any tried to escape. He opened his mouth to reply back with his orders. But as the adrenaline of combat began to fade and his mind cleared, he was afraid to say them. Was he really going to order others to commit murder? _Why not, it's not like I haven't done it before._ "Uhhhh…." Was Shepard's reply as he deliberated with himself.

"Shepard?"

 _Get a hold of yourself._ "Club them over the head or something. Make sure they don't wake up within the hour. And send Tali up here so we can transfer this fucking crap."

* * *

Tali walked down the corridor. She passed a lone body surrounded by a pool of blood on her left. Maybe in the middle of a fight, she wouldn't really care about the gore. But when the dust had settled, she had to make a concerted effort to hold back her stomach; the last thing she wanted to do was vomit in her suit.

When she had reached the top, she found the two soldiers waiting. Ashley remained on guard, ready for any threat that might appear. Shepard, however, was less cautious. He nonchalantly leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Tali looked around and noticed the dead bodies that lay everywhere. The two soldiers looked so unfazed by it, as if it were a normal, everyday occurrence. _Well, I guess it is. If I stay here long enough, will I become like them?_

"Hey Tali, catch," Shepard said as he tossed the OSD at her. She barely had time to react as the OSD hit her forearm and fell to the ground.

Tali shook her head in disbelief. "You should be more fragile with this thing," she warned as she picked it up from the floor. "It doesn't take that much force to break one of these."

* * *

"Commander, wait." It was Gianna Parasini again. Why she was here, he couldn't possibly fathom.

"Can I help you with something?" he spat. First, she sends him on a wild goose chase for a garage pass, and now she came to bother him again. What the hell could she possibly want?

Gianna cleared her throat before speaking. "Before you hand Lorik Qui'in the evidence, I wanted to ask if you could convince him to testify against Anoleis."

One of Shepard's hands balled into a fist. "Listen lady, I don't have time for this bullshit. Get out of my way."

Given his reputation, she knew that trying to convince him wouldn't be easy. Nonetheless, she had to try. "Commander, thousands of people are suffering because of the administrator's actions. If you convince Qui'in to testify, Anoleis will be put on trial, and his crimes will be put to an end.

Shepard started walking forward, forcing Parasini to take a couple of steps back. "Wait, just for one second, please!"

Shepard stopped to face her. "You sent me to Lorik Qui'in specifically because it would help you! I don't have time to play your stupid games." The anger in his eyes was impossible to miss. "Why on Earth did you ever think I was going to help you?"

"Because you know it's the right thing to do." She jabbed him in his shoulder with her index finger. "If all you care about is getting the garage pass, you might as well hand the evidence over to Anoleis. I sent you to Qui'in because it helped more than just you or me. Hundreds are homeless, thousands live in poverty, all so he and his buddies can get even richer than they already are." She paused for effect before continuing. "Is that really what your upset about stopping?"

Shepard continued walking, forcing her out of his way. _Why can't anything ever be simple?_

* * *

Lorik Qui'in downed another glass of turian whiskey. These last few weeks had been… stressful. Between losing his job, being put under a sham investigation, and getting on the administrator's bad side, it couldn't have been going any worse. Although, when commander Shepard walked back in the room, a villainous grin spread across his face. "Commander! How went your mission?"

Shepard tightly clutched the OSD in his right hand. "I have the data. There are a few dead cops, but whatever," he shrugged.

He sat down opposite from Qui'in and placed the OSD on the table. The turian was literally licking his lips at the sight of the OSD, and he quickly snatched it off the table and pocketed it. He then retrieved the garage pass and handed it to the commander. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Shepard accepted the pass on his outstretched palm. "Why'd Anoleis let you keep this thing anyway?"

The turian chuckled venomously. "Why would he take it away? Where would I go with it? Into the frozen wasteland out there? It's useless to me," he explained.

Shepard remained seated. He was still debating with himself on what he should do. He'd handed over the evidence, and therefore, had lost his leverage. But the mission had to come first. However, he decided that this fact did not mean he shouldn't try. How to go about it, however, was a complicated matter.

"Uh, listen Qui'in, I wanted to know if you'd do me a favor."

The sneer plastered on the turian's face rapidly disappeared. He knew that here, favors were never favors; somebody always had to pay. "And what would that be?" he asked cautiously.

Shepard cleared his throat before speaking. "Think you could testify with that evidence?"

The turian's features grew cold. "We made a deal. Now, you want to mandate how I use the evidence? I don't think so!"

Shepard realized the irony of the situation. He had been just as stubborn to convince as the turian was being. He still questioned what the point of even trying was. Even if Anoleis was taken down, somebody just as bad would take his place. So why bother trying? Well, he really wasn't, considering he had nothing on the line; he'd already gained possession of the garage pass.

"I don't care what you do or don't do with the evidence. I'm just a messenger. With the evidence and your testimony, you can put an end to Anoleis. Even he fucked you over." Shepard started to get up, leaning heavily with his forearms on the table. "I don't pretend to have a stake in this. But at the end of the day, maybe you could get his old job." He turned to walk out of the lounge. He had bigger problems to worry about than corporate politics, problems where the answers weren't so clear cut and simple.

Lorik Qui'in only had seconds to decide. He would be putting his ass on the line. He might get killed. And all for what, so a few people would be living in houses as opposed to the street? It was useless, there would always be homeless people. Even so, he knew it was the right thing to do, and that's all that should matter. The possibility of a new, cushy job was an added bonus. "Commander, wait!" Shepard was almost at the exit of the lounge. Within seconds, he would walk out that door, probably to never be seen again as he would die at Peek 13. He abruptly got up from his chair and ran after him in his drunken stupor. "Shepard."

John turned around, having heard his name being called. "What?" he spat.

"I've…I've made up my mind. Just tell me who to give it to." The turian stood lopsidedly. He'd clearly had more drinks at the bar than he had intended.

"Find a woman named Gianna Parasini. She works at administrator Anoleis' office as an undercover investigator. She'll know what to do with it." The justice system was so complicated and arbitrary; it failed so often as to render itself almost ineffective at its task. Shepard knew only one form of justice: death. It was random, and in an unfair world, random is the only fairness. He could probably just walk up and shoot Anoleis. Nobody would stop him. Maybe he would get a warning from the council, as if it were the worst thing he'd ever done, even though the council only cared because they had financial interests at this port. But that was true justice to him.

"Thank you, commander."

"For what?" Shepard asked, confused. He'd never done anything to warrant thanks. Even when his actions produced positive outcomes, they were always for the wrong reasons. There was nothing to thank here. He'd only bothered to get the evidence because it benefited him.

"For giving me a chance. Maybe justice will finally have its day because of you."

Shepard swallowed hard. He did not like contemplating the thoughts of justice and himself. Mostly because he deserved far worse than any legal system had to offer.

Before Shepard had time to respond, the turian spoke again. "And one more thing. I've worked here for years. I've heard some pretty crazy experiments. But there are rumors about recent events… I would advise caution. And on the off chance you have an army of krogan, I'd bring them too."

"For what reason? What the hell have you guys been doing?" A krogan was one thing. But a whole army of krogan? Qui'in was either exaggerating, or whatever the hell Benezia was up to in the hot labs was beyond even the wildest imagination.

"Only playing with the laws of nature commander. Did you expect anything nobler from a city full of greedy corporate executives under no regulation?"


	34. Noveria Part 2

A/N: I was supposed to update a couple days ago, but this chapter snowballed into a monster. Hope you enjoy. I get motivated by feedback.

* * *

"So Shepard, what made you change your mind. Too scared to face Benezia on your own?" Wrex taunted.

The entire team was walking down the corridor. Shepard hadn't anticipated bringing this many of them, but given what Qui'in had told him about Peak 15, he didn't really have a choice. Now, it was Shepard's turn to drop the bombshell on Wrex. "Well, apparently they were trying to bring back an extinct race, Wrex."

A deep rumbling could be heard from the krogan, but it turned out to only be some type of convoluted laughter. "You know, you guys insult the krogan for not having scientists, but you spend all your time trying to bring back extinct zoo animals for cash. Why the hell would I want to see that?"

"Ya, I'm not sure why anyone would bring the rachni back."

Wrex stopped in his tracks, and Garrus, who was behind Wrex and didn't notice the Krogan stopping, headbutted his back. "Rachni!" he roared. "Impossible!" He reached for the massive shotgun on his back. "My people wiped them out ages ago! They can't be back!" Wrex's legs widened into a combat stance, and his meaty, three-fingered hands fiercely squeezed his weapon. This reaction was exactly what Shepard was looking for: bringing Wrex was a good decision.

"Thought you might want to come along on this exciting adventure."

Ashley facepalmed her helmet in disbelief. "You really think antagonizing a krogan is the right move?"

John shrugged. "Gets his blood running, what's wrong with that?" Shepard replied as he scanned the ID on the door in front of him. Indeed, this was the garage, a very large one at that. Vehicles of every different type were scattered about. He took a step inside with Wrex close behind, now eager for a fight; actually, a little too close for comfort.

Shepard turned around. "Big guy, go easy. There's no one to fight yet. Not in this building at least. Mind giving me some space, you're…"

Wrex shoved Shepard to the floor, catching him off guard. A loud crack went off, and a bullet flew through the area that Shepard's head had just occupied. Instead of hitting the commander's head, it hit Wrex's shoulder, causing blood to splatter out from behind him. Already mad, Wrex started charging at the enemy.

Shepard, still confused as to what was happening, got to his knees and ducked behind one of the vehicles in the warehouse. He saw Wrex tackling a… was that a geth? "MULTIPLE GETH HOSTILES!"

* * *

"Wait, so let me get this straight, you've only been here for a couple of hours, and you've killed over a dozen people, caused 3 million credits in damage, and brought the geth to us. Anything else you want to add to the list?" Matsuo shouted, although she really didn't want him to answer that question.

Shepard was cleaning blood off his boots with an engineering cloth he'd found in a toolbox. It wasn't his blood; rather, it was the gallons of blood Wrex had leaked everywhere when he ran straight into seven geth. Okay, maybe gallons was an exaggeration, but still, what the fuck? "Okay, first of all, I didn't bring the geth. These crates were brought by Benezia. You would have found them if you were doing your job properly. Second of all, those were corrupt cops; believe it or not, they raised their weapons first, not me."

Matsuo's eyes widened in disbelief. "You know what, just get the hell off my port already. I'm the one who's going to have to clean this up and do all the paperwork. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can get started."

Shepard started to slowly walk backward. "Fine with me," he replied as he gave her a double thumbs-up. Her snarl meant that she was not amused in the slightest. Who else could trivialize violence so easily besides John Shepard?

John approached the rest of his team. Some stood, and others used the hoods of vehicles as chairs. Wrex was off in the corner, trying to tend his own wounds. He'd asked if Wrex was alright and offered to let him return to the Normandy, but Wrex seemed almost insulted by the proposition. He'd insisted he only needed a minute to recoup and he'd be alright. All John knew was that he could never pull off a stunt like Wrex had.

As John looked at the vehicle beside him and then back at his team, he realized that they all would not fit, especially with the addition of the krogan. Yet, he realized that not all hope was lost as he looked around the garage for a solution. There was another vehicle here besides the snow plow he stood next to. With each step he took towards it, the vehicle looked more and more familiar: the vehicle was a Mako. It appeared to be very, very old; it must have been decommissioned from service a long time ago; and it was heavily modified: most notably, it was missing its armaments. Go figure.

"Okay, here's the plan," Shepard began to explain. "We all don't fit in that snow vehicle, but they have an old Mako back here. We're going to have to split up into two teams until we reach peak 15." He started counting them, dividing them up into groups in his mind. "Tali, Wrex, you're with me in the old Mako. The rest of you take the grizzly, and Alenko, you're in charge over there."

* * *

Tali was hyperventilating. Wrex himself was very agitated; although that was only because he was stuck in a tank without a main gun and couldn't fight back against the attackers. They'd almost been driven off the cliff and into the gorge below several times. In return, Shepard had managed to trample over twenty geth, and driven two geth armigers over the edge. Unfortunately, the two aliens with him were forced to admire his impressive offensive driving skills. Well actually, he was a terrible driver; he was just really good at using what he drove as a weapon. With all the turns and jumps and drops and abrupt stops, everyone couldn't help but feel the slightest bit queasy. And being stuck in such a confined and stuffy space with a broken air circulation system made it rather difficult to breathe.

Thus, it came as no surprise that when the first opportunity to leave the vehicle presented itself, they clamored for the exit. Wrex and Shepard gasped great heaves of air as they tried to recover. Fifteen seconds later, they were good as new; fresh air always seemed to do the trick, even if it was at -5 degrees Celsius. Tali, however, had no such luck; there would be no fresh air because the air was always the same after it passed through her suit's filters.

The grizzly that carried the rest of the team came to a stop behind the Mako. The blizzard howling outside was so strong that even when the grizzly's powerful engine was turned off, it was just as noisy as before.

Shepard put on his helmet; it would do no good to freeze his face off, even if he was still feeling a bit short on breath. Peak 15's entrance loomed in front of them. Massive metal doors faced them, and Shepard could see the outlines of the facility built into the mountain. This was an engineering marvel considering the conditions it had to be built in. It was a shame that this place faced a higher than likely chance of being riddled with bullets and blown up.

John turned on the comm unit of his armor. There was no way in hell that he would be heard through this storm. "This is Peak 15. I have no idea what to expect, so be ready for anything." He took another couple of seconds to formulate the plan of attack for breaching this place. "Tali, you need to get those doors open. Garrus, Williams, I want you on your rifles in case anything pops out."

Once Tali hacked the control panel and opened the doors, John stepped inside with Wrex right behind him. If anyone should take the first steps inside, it should be them. The place was eerie. Yellow, flickering lights barely lit the place, making it difficult to see inside. Frost and icicles covered some of the walls, and equipment was strewn about. Something was wrong here, peak 15 was clearly not operational.

Once the team entered, the doors abruptly shut behind them. "Who did that?" Shepard asked, but the silence was his answer. If it wasn't his team, then somebody else was here, and given the state of the facility, they were anything but friendly. Shepard turned his head to the sound of a large crash on his left. There, he saw an elevated walkway sloping down to their floor of the facility. And in the dim lights, the shadow of a lumbering figure could be seen. "Contacts on our left! Hold your fire until I say so."

Normally, he would have just blasted the person to smithereens. However, now he first had to determine who they were and why they were here. If they were hostile, he would kill them. If they were a scientist, he would gather as much intel as possible; and, depending upon how much he believed about their involvement with this entire operation, decide on killing them or letting them go. But as the shadow of the figure began to develop further, he no longer needed to contemplate such concerns: a krogan flanked by two geth.

Shepard grabbed a grenade from his belt and tossed it onto the walkway. "Fire in the hole!" His team took cover in time to see the upper half of a geth destroyer fly through the air. The thing was clearly still active, as denoted by the light in its head still shining; and, in a testament to Garrus' marksmanship, the light was shattered as a round tore right through the optic. Whether Garrus was aiming for the light specifically, or just hit it by accident, Shepard could not tell. However, he couldn't help but admire the marksmanship because it was probably a hell of a lot better than his own.

The enemy krogan, which somehow survived the blast albeit with heavy injuries, slowly rose to his feet and roared. His reply was the thunder of multiple firearms going off and striking him. The force of so many projectiles hitting him at once forced the lumbering beast into the wall behind him, which he promptly slid down as he bled out. There would be no regeneration for him today.

Shepard and Wrex moved towards the end of the garage, where the start of the ramp began, and walked up the narrow incline towards the dying krogan. The rest of the team followed behind them, although a bit more cautiously. Shepard reached the warrior and squatted down in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You… must be… Shepard" the krogan struggled to say as blood filled his lungs.

In trying to show off more than anything else, Shepard removed his stifling helmet, revealing the wicked grin on his face. He couldn't help but admire the name he'd made for himself. Maybe everyone being afraid of you didn't make you the happiest person in the world or do wonders for your sanity, but it still felt good to be feared, so feared that they had to warn krogan about you. That would probably make most other people miserable, but it's the only thing Shepard had.

"Take a step… closer, I'll wipe that grin… off your face."

The krogan was dying, but Shepard could still see fierce determination in his alien eyes. And above all, he saw anger in them. John knew what that feeling looked like and felt like most of all. "Anything you want to say to us before it's over?" Shepard asked. There was no point in offering to spare his life; they both knew it wasn't going to happen.

"Saren…will bring a new age…and you will all be…ground under our heel!" he tried to scream, resulting in a fit of intense coughing.

John put on his helmet again before standing up. "Whatever you say," Shepard replied rather gleefully, "although I don't think you're going to get to see that day." He reached for his gun, pointed it at the krogan's head, and fired.

* * *

Shepard was tapping his foot rapidly on the cold metal floor. He was getting very annoyed at the current predicament. No, it wasn't the numerous rachni and geth that had tried to kill them, or the creepiness of the place, or the rooms filled with snow that they had to trudge through to get here. He was pissed off that Benezia was no longer at peak 13 and that getting there was proving ridiculously difficult.

It had been minutes since he'd sent Alenko and Tali down into the VI core room. He was getting impatient, and he wished that he could have screamed down at them to hurry up. With each minute that past, the chance of Benezia escaping increased tenfold, not to mention the chance of the rachni infestation spreading. Except, he didn't know the slightest thing about computers or coding; he'd be way out of his authority to say anything. Besides, he'd seen them deal with digital difficulties in seconds, whereas he'd seen other technicians take minutes or even hours. If this was taking them that long, it must have been really serious. Unfortunately, that was not helping his anxiety about everything; again, they were on a clock that was rapidly ticking down.

The rest of his team had nothing to do but secure the area. It seemed so quiet and peaceful, and yet at a moment's notice, any one of them could be stabbed in the back by a rachni jumping out of a ventilation shaft. It came as no surprise that the sound of systems powering up seemed to relax some of them because it meant that they might be getting out of here soon. Unfortunately, the people who'd fixed the situation had no good news to provide.

"Good news and bad news" Kaiden stated as the elevator from the core room arrived at their floor.

Shepard let out a loud sigh. He found that saying so trivial, as if the good news would somehow nullify the bad news; did it not still mean that something was wrong and needed correction, which expressly necessitated the input of human effort? "What could have possibly gone wrong now?" Shepard asked. This entire mission had been one great clusterfuck of problems and delays.

"Well, we have three problems, actually. First, the VI is not fully operational, so we can't use the tram. To fix that, we need to fix two other things first. The landlines on the roof need to be reset, and the helium three reactor needs to be restarted. Then, we have to confirm that the VI is online again."

"And how do you propose we fix that?" Shepard asked. He simply wasn't going to pretend that he knew any of this stuff; everyone knew he was stupid, and he was fine with it. No, actually not fine, but accustomed.

"The landline is on the roof and the reactor core is down below. If you want to get out of here fast, I suggest splitting up."

_Perfect, just what we needed in the middle of a rachni infestation: splitting up._ If you didn't have somebody watching your back in this building, you could easily die. He might be a nihilist, but he didn't go out of his way to end his life.

"I should probably go to the reactor core. I've worked on similar models before," Tali offered.

Alenko nodded his head in agreement. "Then I'll go to the landlines on the roof. Garrus should stay here to ensure the VI is working properly." The turian flared his mandibles in amusement at the mention of his name.

* * *

Shepard walked behind Tali. He kept turning his head backward every couple of seconds in case anything jumped up and tried to attack them. He preferred to take the front, but he had no idea where they were headed. So Tali had that job, armed with her omnitool and a pistol.

"We should be close now," she whispered. Never in a million years did she see herself doing this during her pilgrimage. She knew it would be dangerous, but this was a whole other level. She couldn't say she liked the work she did; it was dangerous, and often at times scary; but at the end of the day, she felt a sense of purpose in helping people, in saving their lives. She still didn't have a pilgrimage gift, but she was sure that somewhere along the way, they would find something. After all, they'd already visited dozens of planets and fought the strangest of enemies. There had to be something out there.

She stopped in front of a large metal door. Adjacent to it, glass panes gave a clear view of the reactor core. They also let him see what he feared: more geth. He could count three geth destroyers, two hoppers, and two standard units, and those were only the geth he could see from this angle. He did not like their odds, and he did not think he could take them all. But he was going to try anyway.

"Wait, you can't just charge in there," Tali cried, "one wrong shot, and you'll blow the whole thing up."

Shepard lowered his shotgun. "So what would you have me do instead?" he asked. He was all out of ideas, except one: just charge in there and overwhelm with force. If she had an idea, he might as well consider it.

"I… I don't know." _Why is he asking me? Isn't he the commander, the person who's supposed to come up with a plan?_

Shepard leaned on the bulkhead in front of him. There was no choice, he would have to go in there. "Then watch my back. If you can, jam their guns with that tech thingy, and I… we might stand a chance."

He opened the door and walked inside. Immediately, a geth turned to shoot at him, but he kicked it in the chest before firing his weapon at its abdomen twice. Through the glass panels that looked over the reactor core area, he could see all the geth stop what they were doing and look at his direction in unison. "Fuck."

A door to his left began to open, but Shepard already had his shotgun trained on the motion and blasted the geth to pieces once the door had opened enough for him to fire.

There was only one way forward into the reactor core, the passageway in front of him. If he couldn't accidentally hit the reactor, he would have to hope that the geth came to fight him in here. The passageway also meant that only one geth could enter the room at a time. He'd rather just charge them all at once, but even he knew that it was suicide. Furthermore, while he might not care about his own life, he didn't exactly feel entitled to going out of his way in ending the lives of the people who he had asked to come with him. He'd already lost enough, and while he viewed them all as expendable cogs, he knew it was fruitless to get them all killed by blowing up the place.

* * *

"Go start the reactor," Shepard ordered with an arm pointing to the control panel.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he screamed. He did not like having to repeat himself. But more importantly, he didn't like the notion of needing help.

Tali lowered her head meekly. "Sorry," she mumbled, even though she had done nothing wrong. Quarians were never this rude. She had been warned before her pilgrimage to except a certain level of disrespect, but hell, not even the rest of the crew was this mean. She'd have to take solace in one fact: at least Shepard wasn't expressly racist. Tali had originally believed that he was, in fact, racist, but as she watched him interact with others, she quickly realized something: it wasn't racism, it was displeasure at the concept of other conscious people. That wasn't really an improvement over someone being racist, yet in this scenario, at least she was being grouped with everybody else, for better or for worse.

She approached the control panel for the helium-3 reactor. Like everything on this planet, it was covered in a thin layer of frost. She prayed silently to the ancestors that the computer was still working. Yes, computers liked it cold, but that didn't mean the circuitry should be frozen.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the display lit up. She began the process of restarting the reactor. Hopefully, that would fix this place's energy problems, and maybe also turn the heat back on. She was in a climate-controlled suit, and even she couldn't help but shiver.

Out of the corner of her vision, she could see Shepard slowly get up. He was holding his left shoulder with his other hand. He seemed to be in quite a bit of pain. He let go of his shoulder, letting his arm hang in the air for a second or two. It was almost as if the appendage were useless.

Shepard began to mentally prepare himself. He knew it would hurt like a bitch because it was already hurting bad enough right now. Nevertheless, he needed both his arms to fight. Nobody would care about your pain when they tried to kill you. He would have to march on as he always had, no matter the discomfort he was in. He grabbed his arm by the wrist and fiercely shoved it upwards. The ball of his arm bone popped back into his shoulder socket, and he howled in pain.

Tali could only look on in horror.

* * *

"Landlines are good. All we need is a confirmation from Garrus that the tram is operational and then we can leave," Alenko screamed, trying to be heard over the blizzard.

"What?" Wrex screamed back.

Kaiden was going to respond with a 'never mind' but it would be rather useless. He looked at Wrex's armor. It was partially corroded in places. The rachni acid had done a number on them, and it was a miracle that neither he nor Wrex had been melted to pieces.

* * *

The tram slowed down and eventually stopped in front of a platform. A robotic feminine voice could be heard over the loudspeaker saying "Rift Station" as if it should be a welcoming place. However, no one wanted to point at the irony, because what was here was anything but welcoming or pleasant. Without missing a beat, once the doors had opened, screaming could already be heard in the distance. Great. Wrex roared, clearly having too much fun with killing rachni; after all, it's what those brutes were uplifted to do.

Shepard, shotgun already in hand, started to rapidly walk forward, ready to shoot anything that appeared as a threat. He made a left towards the sound of the screaming and followed the length of the hallway. At its end, he saw a nightmarish battle. A soldier had already been gutted through the chest by a spiked tentacle, and the rachni stood its ground, even as other soldiers fired at it. Smaller rachni began to exit through the floor, and they swarmed other soldiers in the room, trying to eat their way through the armor to the soft, warm flesh inside. Shepard held up his fist, indicating for his team to stop; there was no way in hell he was going to battle through this, and these soldiers were already lost. He took two grenades from his belt and lobbed it far into the room. He then slammed his hand down on the door controls. The door slammed shut, and even through the thick metal, screams for help could still be heard. A second later, the area was rocked by a tremendous explosion, and then all was silent.

* * *

This was supposed to be the end run. Instead, they had sent Liara into a biologically hazardous lab to formulate a cure. The cure would then be traded for a security key that would allow them into the lab areas. Gaining access to the lab areas would allow them to finally get to Benezia. This mission was undoubtedly the worst he had ever been on, and it had nothing to do with the combat. It was simply the sheer number of steps taken to move onwards; this was madness! All this time, he had believed you would cover less ground in trench warfare, but no, it was navigating bureaucratic bullshit which was truly the slowest.

Now, he spoke with one of the scientists who worked at the hot labs, a volus geneticist.

"If you think I'm going down there, you have another thing coming."

"Commander, it's essential. If you don't, those rachni will eat everyone."

"If it's so important to you, why don't you go down there yourself. Or better yet, can't you just detonate it from your omnitool or something?"

"The neutron bomb can only be activated from the computer mainframe in the heart of the lab." The volus fiddled with something on his tool belt before handing it to the commander. It was his key card. "Please. I know we," skssss, "messed up. Worse than messed up. It isn't right to ask you because it was our mistake, but you're," skss, "the only one who can get us out of this."

Shepard remained quiet, without anything more to say. Why did he always have to walk into hell for other people? He took the key card.

A minute or two later, the asari scientist from earlier appeared, with a smugly contented smile on her face. She was clearly walking towards them. The rest of Shepard's team was upstairs, guarding the scientists. Oh, did I forget, that was another condition to get the fucking pass? _Maybe if someone just allowed me to do my job the problem would have been solved already!_

"I thought you were meditating. What happened, the goddess not helping?" Shepard taunted. He hated that woman; the way she could sit through a crisis without a care in the world was unnerving.

"Yes, I was, but I came to deliver a message," she stated coyly. The bitch was flashing a bright smile, and the way she held her arms behind her back accentuated her curves even more. _She's too easy._ He fired his shotgun at the asari, and she was thrown backward. She was dead before she had even hit the floor.

"Why did you do that?" The volus researcher he'd been speaking to began to slowly walk away, now afraid of getting blasted to pieces for no apparent reason. "Please, we've already told you all we know!" he cried.

Shepard stowed his shotgun on his back and approached the dead body. "Calm down Mr. Beach Ball," Shepard replied as he kicked the body against the wall. He bent over to pick up the gun she had been carrying in her hands and then tossed it to the volus. "You weren't trying to kill me, so I'll let you live." The less than nimble volus was unable to catch the firearm, and once it had fallen to the floor he made no attempts to pick it up. "You should keep that to protect yourself in case more rachni come while I'm not here."

_That asari thought I would fall for that? What a joke._ First of all, Shepard had been looking for any reason to blow her head off ever since they had spoken before; but as it turned out, she was the one actually trying to kill him. She had thought John would have been like any conventional man, so easily wooed by looks. However, John was anything but conventional. He knew that everything was a weapon, even sexuality, it was just a matter of how you use it. Unfortunately for her, not even the gun she brought would have been enough to kill him. And in all honesty, her biggest mistake was flashing Shepard that smile; nobody smiled when they saw Shepard.

Liara exited the lab, vile in hand. Even though she had her helmet on, John could tell her mouth was agape. "Don't worry, she was trying to kill me. She's dead now," he stated simply, as if the task of killing was as common as taking a shower or eating dinner.

* * *

Did Shepard feel any guilt when he had to kill clueless security guards? Nope. He was in combat. They were in his way. They were firing at him. The sum total of all these contentions resulted in categorizing them as enemies, and therefore, killing them. He would feel the guilt later, he always felt it later, when he was alone. However, now was not that time.

Shepard had divided the team into two groups. He, Liara, and Garrus would go through the front entrance of the lab; while the rest of his team would go through the back entrance. There would be no escape for the matriarch.

His shoulder had been killing him ever since he dislocated it. He made a mental note for the future: to avoid engaging geth destroyers in hand to hand combat. In retrospect, he didn't even know what he was thinking. He would also pay the price for this injury later; he knew he probably fucked something up, some sort of ligament or tendon. It would make the final fight at this station that much harder.

He walked into the lab. After so long, he could finally see his target: the Matriarch. Liara, who was walking behind him, let out a quiet gasp. Finally seeing her mother here, in the middle of what essentially was a warzone, finally set in stone what Liara knew was true all along, but didn't want to believe: her mother was working with Saren. The matriarch stood in front of a large observation tank, and inside it, a monstrous creature screamed and hit the walls of its container.

The matriarch slowly turned around, facing Shepard's ragtag group of aliens with a disdainful glare. "Commander Shepard," she said very slowly, "I was wondering when you would finally catch up."

He continued to advance; he did not care what she had to say; all he knew was that he had to figure out what she had come here for. Nevertheless, she continued to speak, unfazed by the advancing warrior. "And you brought my daughter with you too? Liara, I would have expected you to associate yourself with nicer…" she paused, looking for the right word, "more educated people of a higher intellect."

Shepard lunged for Benezia, but with the wave of her hand, she effortlessly tossed him into the wall. He fell in a crumpled heap, dazed from the force of the impact.

"I've come to put a stop to you, mother! You've done enough already!"

Benezia wagged her finger at her daughter. "I thought you had better manners than to scream at your mother."

Liara's hands shook violently as she pointed her pistol at her. "Enough!" she screamed.

"I serve I higher purpose now. And through them, I will bring peace to the galaxy; I will not let anyone, not even my own daughter, stand in the way." With a flick of her wrist, she knocked her daughter off her feet. Fortunately for her, it was a much gentler treatment than the commander had received.

Garrus knew that killing Benezia was a last resort; at least until they got the information they needed. However, his intuition told him that he was next on the chopping block. The entire time, he'd been lining up his shot. He held his breath, not wanting to ruin his aim. His finger pulled down on the trigger, and the high caliber round from his sniper flew towards its target. Yet the Matriarch had not fallen. Instead, a bright-blue flash blinded him.

"You did not honestly believe that your savage weapons could harm me, did you?" She spread her arms towards the sky. "I am an asari matriarch. I am more powerful than you can imagine!" She picked up Garrus and hurled him across the room. He smacked his head on the floor, knocking him out cold.

Shepard finally got to his feet. He had the distinct feeling that some of his bones were fractured, maybe even broken, but he could not let that stop him. He had powered through worse before, and he was not going to let a skimpy old woman defeat him. "I will end you. There will be no escape, you must know this."

The matriarch started laughing, an evil, maniacal laugh. It kind of reminded him of himself. "Commander, please. You act like we weren't expecting your other attack party."

Shepard's eyes widened behind his helmet; the matriarch didn't need to see his face to know this. There would be no help coming. It would just be the three of them. He raised his weapon to fire, but he found himself no longer able to move. He was frozen in place, and no matter how much he strained against his invisible shackles, he could not break free. "What the fuck are you?" Shepard roared through gritted teeth.

The matriarch slowly walked down the steps. Shepard felt a cold presence prodding his brain, and an eerie feeling slowly overcame him, a feeling he had only felt once before: Eden Prime. "You had such potential, young one. It is a shame you wasted it fighting for people who you don't care about."

Shepard realized what was going on now. She was reading his mind, trying to turn him against himself. This angered him. His mind was the one place that was absolutely off-limits; except for Liara, which was for a good cause, and he was 100% sure she wouldn't talk; his mind was his vault where he could keep all his twisted thoughts away from everyone else. However, unlike Liara, Benezia wouldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Did you honestly believe that if these people ever truly knew what you have done, they would ever forgive you?"

He strained even harder to move, causing blood to rush to his face. "Get the fuck out of my head you witch!"

The matriarch took a step closer. "Do they know the real commander Shepard?" she asked accusingly.

_Mind games, just great._ Except, he couldn't help but feel ashamed. What he hated more was that she could also tell that it was affecting him; it wasn't fair. And Shepard's anger could only go so far. There was no longer any point in trying to move. As his body gave up the will to move, he slowly started to feel the dam around his mind ebb away as well. He felt himself gradually being seduced by her words, even as he tried to block her out.

Liara was helpless to do anything. Even though her pistol was raised, she was frozen; frozen not from a stasis field, but from her own indecisiveness.

"Join me, and we can bring peace across the galaxy, commander. You can finally fulfill your purpose."

However, Shepard had seen one thing that Benezia never had: the beacon. He'd seen its hazy visions, seen what was to come. In that moment, he knew one thing: no matter how far he fell, he did not want those visions to exist because of him. "Go. Fuck. Yourself."

Benezia shrugged. "Shame," she replied, her voice carrying an air of faux sorrow. Slowly the commander began to levitate off the ground. "As I am sure you know, the asari are masters at biotics." She repeatedly slammed John violently into the metal bulkhead behind him, again, again, and again, until his bones started to fracture or break from the force of the impacts. "Unique specimens such as yourself have been able to copy some of our techniques. Yet, there are still things your fumbling race has yet to learn."

Shepard's skin began to get warm. For a moment, he thought it was because of his struggling; but then his skin began to burn and his insides began to feel like they were melting. At first, he could tolerate the pain, but it soon grew to an unbearable level; he started to burn up inside his suit, and some of his bones began to twist inside him. John screamed in agony. He tried to counter with his own biotics. He kicked the air, waved his arms, tried anything to get back down to the ground so he could stop her from afflicting him. Nothing worked.

Liara could hear his screams, she could almost feel the pain he was in. She knew she had to do something. This woman was not the sweet and caring mother she once knew. No, this was a heartless monster. Liara could not let the commander die. He probably deserved to, but she didn't feel like playing god. At least for the time being, he was trying to stop the reapers, and that was good enough for her.

She threw a warp at her mother, catching her off guard, but it only caused her mother to stumble. Liara tried again, but now that her mother at her attention directed at her, it was no use. She hurled the commander at Liara, sending them sprawling to the floor. Benezia slowly started walking towards her daughter. Liara struggled to roll the commander's body off her. For a man who could move so quickly, she did not understand how he could weigh so much.

Benezia produced a pistol. She held it elegantly, as if it were a paintbrush used to produce a work of art. She shot at the commander four or five times before training it on her. This was the end; she was going to die by her mother's hands. Except, when Benezia pointed the gun at her, she saw something: her mother's hands were shaking.

Benezia screamed in pain, holding her head in her hands as she fell to one knee, dropping her gun as she did so. "Liara, you must listen to me, I don't have much time." Her mother's voice sounded different this time, more like… her mother's voice, not the cruel woman she had become.

"Saren still whispers in my mind, I can only speak with you for so long."

And so they spoke. They spoke about indoctrination, Saren's flagship sovereign, and how it twists the minds of even the purest of souls. They spoke about the Mu relay, Ilos, and how the rachni came to know of it. But what scared Liara most of all? The confirmation of her worst fears: the reapers were not the creation of the geth or any other race. They were something more ancient, and most of all, powerful. And Saren was here to bring them back.

"I'm sorry Liara, but I can only…" she groaned as she held her head in pain, "hold him off for so long. Please," she begged, "kill me."

Liara looked back at her mother like a deer facing headlights. "What?"

"It's too late for me, little wing."

That name brought back so many memories from a time long, long ago, where the world was simpler and she was happy. These thoughts were irreconcilable with what her mother was asking her to do, making the probability of her going through with the task even lower. "No, we can still save you. Turn yourself in. We can figure out something, just please!" Liara pleaded. She knew her mother had to be stopped, but she simply could not do it herself.

"Then commander, do what must be done."

At the mention of his name, he stirred from his painful slumber. He had managed to crawl several feet away, painfully dragging his broken body over the cold metal floor before leaning against a wall. John had heard the entire conversation. More importantly, he knew that if he didn't kill her now, Benezia would sooner or later revert to her less than amicable state and finish the job she had started. He knew what he had to do; it was what he did best.

Shepard raised the pistol with a shaking arm, aiming it at Benezia. Liara wanted to jump in front of her mother and take the bullet instead, but she did not want to disobey her mother's last wish. She could at least do this, just stand there.

Benezia closed her eyes, and a silent tear streamed down her face. "Thank you, commander."

For John, it wasn't a matter of thanks or gratitude. He would kill her first; it was simple self-preservation. This woman could not be saved; she was, as she herself had admitted, indoctrinated. He fired his gun one, two, three, four times. She dropped to the ground, bleeding out. Shepard knew that within the next couple of seconds, she would be truly dead.

Liara crumpled next to her mother, tenderly stroking her head. However, Shepard didn't have time for this. Now that Benezia no longer posed a threat, there was still the matter of saving the rest of his team. His medigel injectors had long ago run dry, even before this engagement, and whatever was left in his system sure didn't fix broken bones. "Liara, help me up."

She was in another world, slowly watching her mother die, numb to anything else.

"Liara."

Her mother's chest rose and fell for the last time, her heart stopped beating. The pool of blood that had been expanded outwards from her injuries reached Liara's knees. This couldn't be happening, ending like this!

"Liara!" he roared. His voice finally snapped her out of her trance. She reluctantly left her mother's side and went over to the commander. She would have to face this existential crisis when they were all out of this mess.

Even through his armor, she could tell he was in pretty bad shape. The way he hung his head, the shallow, shuddering breaths he took, his inability to move properly. Not to mention that Garrus was still on the other side of the room in god knows what condition. This was not good, not good at all.

"Hurry, we need to get…to the rest of the… team" he spoke through strained breaths. He extended his arm, prompting her to try and pull him up to his feet. And she was barely able to do so; the commander seemed to be putting in maximum effort, which at the moment, seemed very minimal. He leaned on her heavily, and when he tried to walk forward, he was limping, clearly favoring one leg. Within a couple of steps, Liara could no longer take his weight, and they both collapsed to the ground. Shepard was clearly in no condition to fight. At his sheer inability to carry his own weight, he could only assume he had a pelvic fracture. Wouldn't be the worst, or the first time.

"Shepard, you're not going anywhere. You need to stay here," she finally decided.

"Can't…they could…die. Who will…help them?" he asked rhetorically, because he believed that if he didn't go, they were as good as dead.

"You didn't think I was dead, did you?"

"Garrus." He never thought he would have been so happy to see another person in his life.

The turian had a slight limp and held his forehead with one hand, but at least he was walking. A small clot of blue blood had caked on one side of his head. Shepard wasn't turian, but the way Garrus' mandibles were set and the way his eyes narrowed… this man was clearly out for some blood. Garrus looked over at Benezia's corpse and almost said good riddance, but he didn't want to say that in front of Liara right now.

"Okay…you two need to go…now. Help them," Shepard struggled to say.

Liara thought that was an unequivocally bad idea. If anyone found the commander in this condition, he was as good as dead. "But…"

Shepard knew what she was going to say before it was out of her mouth. "That's… an order, T'Soni."

Garrus grabbed her by the arm, and she reluctantly followed. She didn't want to stay here only because of Shepard; she wanted to be near Benezia in her mother's last moments. The pair left, off to help the rest of the team, leaving Shepard all alone.

All he could hear was the sound of his breathing. It hurt bad, and whenever he got short of breath and tried to breathe deeper, he felt like he was getting stabbed inside.

Yet there was still one final task. The rachni in that cage; the queen, as everyone he had spoken to called her; still needed to be killed. The creature banged on the glass, fiercely striking it with its mandibles and claws as if calling for help. It was yearning to break free. To bad.

He rolled over onto his hands and knees and started crawling towards the cage. He felt weak and embarrassed; he was ready to send an entire race to extinction as he crawled on the floor like an animal. He reached the steps and lunged for its handrail, using it to support his weight as he ascended the staircase.

He reached the platform. This was where Benezia was standing when they had entered the room. It was also where Benezia had gotten the information about the Mu relay during her interrogation. How she had managed to communicate with such a beast, he could not tell, nor did he want to find out. He could only assume that she had done something similar to what Liara had done to him after Therum.

He reached the control panel and used it to hoist himself up. He was now on his knees, but his upper body was doing most of the work. The strain his arms were in was not helping his shoulder, which he was sure he had damaged when he had popped it back in.

John looked over the control panel, searching for something, anything, that would kill the rachni. If they could put a neutron bomb in the basement, they sure as hell had some sort of containment measures up here. And before he forgot, he would be sure to detonate that thing before he left this place. While he didn't fancy the idea of having to send someone down there, it was better to take the risk now. Otherwise, it would just be something else to fight ten years down the line.

He pressed an icon experimentally, but in response, the panel beeped and flared a red triangle with an exclamation point. He pressed it again, only to result in the same warning. "Security access required."

A lightbulb went off in his head as he reached for the security card the volus had given him. He held it in front of his eyes, looking at it. This card would be responsible for a lot of destruction today. Leave it to Shepard to turn a security ID into an instrument of death.

He heard something move. He turned his head to face the sound. "No… that's…impossible." Benezia's body slowly started to rise from the floor; the way she stood up was as if somebody was pulling her from strings up above. It was creepy.

He dropped the security card as he reached for his pistol. He raised his arm and fired his gun. More blood spattered onto the floor, but unlike before, her body did not fall. She shuffled towards the base of the steps, almost like one of the zombies you would see in a cheap horror movie. Her eyes were rolled into the back of her head, giving her face a ghostly, haunted appearance.

Shepard was scared shitless. No, not of death, but at the fact that resurrections were apparently real. Shepard kept firing until his gun blared an overheat warning. Benezia's midsection was now little more than tatters of flesh and violet blood. This would be very hard to explain to Liara. The body fell backward and tumbled down the steps.

Benezia simply stood up and began to re-ascend the steps.

"I thought I killed you, Benezia."

"We are rachni!" the voice screamed. Simultaneously, the beast in the containment cage headbutted its prison, almost as if on cue. _Uh oh._ If this thing could control Benezia to a point where she could not die, and Benezia had already almost killed him, then Shepard really was going to die.

"But how?"

"This one…serves as our voice."

Shepard collapsed against the control panel. He knew he was probably going to die. After all, he had just tried to kill the rachni queen, and now, she was probably trying to kill him. He couldn't blame her because he probably would have done the same thing to somebody who had tried to kill him. "Just get it over with. Kill me and be done with it." There was no need for theatrics because there was nothing he could do to stop her. The possessed body reached the top of the steps. His gun had probably cooled down enough to fire by now, but it was pointless. He did not need to try something that wouldn't work. He was okay with dying.

"We have not come to end your song."

Shepard squinted with his eyes in utter confusion. "What song?" At least he could discern that she wasn't here to kill him, for now.

"Your method of communicating is…colorless. It is monotone, it does not fill the air with life. Your thoughts lack definition."

That simply led to more questions. "How are you controlling her?"

"Through touchings of thought. We pluck the strings, and she plays our song. She is dead, her music is bitter. It is black. But her song shone brighter when she left this world than when she entered this lab."

"Is that how you commanded all of your soldiers to attack us?" Shepard let out a silent laugh, which he immediately regretted as the pain in his chest flared up again; it was all so perfect. It reminded him of the UAV drones the alliance liked to use for airstrikes. Direct control of your units, but once it got shot down, you would just use a new one. "So you were the one who killed everyone here?"

"No!" the rachni -possessed body screamed. "The children we birthed we're stolen from us," the creature hissed. "Taken away from our songs until they were turned mad, shattered minds of silence. They are lost, commander." The body hung its head, a disturbingly human gesture from a body that did not move in human ways.

Shepard nodded, indicating that he understood. "I'm supposed to detonate a neutron bomb in the basement of this place to clear them out." He held up the ID card for her to see.

"We do not blame you for doing what you must."

Shepard nodded his head. He found it so odd that this being agreed on what he had to do, even to its own children. He never felt any remorse when he was killing them before; he thought they were animals. However, they were clearly just as smart as he was. How many lives had been snuffed out through no fault of their own? "But there remains a question: what do I do with you?"

"Our song is in your hands, commander."

"You would let me kill you, just like that?" Shepard scoffed.

Instead of the corpse responding, the rachni itself did: it let out a high-pitched squeal. It sounded…almost scared.

Shepard weakly pointed an accusatory finger at it. "Your race was responsible for the largest war ever seen in this galaxy. You burned hundreds of worlds. You killed billions of people. And just today, your kind has tried to kill me more times than I could count. Why would anyone let you live?"

The rachni and Benezia were silent. They…no…it did not have an answer. So Shepard continued. "I should kill you. Make sure your kind will never wage war on the galaxy again. My superiors would agree, for once."

"I was not there when the war happened, but I can still hear the war-songs of mother; they were oily shadows. They were not our songs. They sounded like…hers," it struggled to say as 'Benezia' pointed at herself.

"The reapers," Shepard suddenly realized.

"I'm afraid I do not know." It fell to its knees, apparently weakening. It would seem that even though the rachni could possess this thing, biological limits remained. The body was dead, it was only a matter of time before it became useless as well.

Shepard readjusted himself on the floor. He was getting increasingly uncomfortable just lying there, and the dead body getting closer wasn't helping. "I'm afraid that if I let you out now, there will be even more wars. I don't want that to happen, not because of me. I've done…enough," he sighed.

"The wars of old do not matter to us. We simply seek a place to hide and rear our young, a place to live and call home. That is all. And if the reapers come, we will be indebted to you."

Shepard smiled sadly, doubting, and at the same time, appreciating her optimism. "I'm beginning to believe that it doesn't matter anymore. Whether I let you live or let you die, they'll kill us all anyway."

The rachni knew what Shepard said was true. It knew that he would have to take on an impossible burden, a leap into the void, just so he could give them a chance. "We only ask for a chance, commander." The body fell to the floor completely, the legs giving out. The head twisted upwards at an odd angle, still trying to face him. It then asked a question: "Should we be defined by our mistakes from long ago?" The tension in the body vanished completely. It was no longer possessed.

He gulped. He knew that when the creature said "we," it was referring to the rachni. Yet, he could not miss the double-entendre. He knew the answer to that question; he believed it wholeheartedly; its what made him hate himself most of all. Yes, we are our mistakes, and he would never allow himself to forget them. He turned himself over, so he was facing the control panel again, and swiped the ID card over the scanner to give him access. His finger hovered over the options, for the mistake he made would forever change the galaxy.

* * *

The plan had not worked, and the enemy knew they were coming. However, they were alive, and for that, they were thankful. Garrus and Liara had ambushed the enemy from behind, taking them by surprise, despite their fortifications. The blood of over a dozen asari commandos covered the icy passageway. The team walked through the back entrance of the lab: the door they were supposed to have breached and failed to do so.

But that didn't matter anymore. Benezia was dead, the mission was complete. They had a new clue about the reapers. All that was left was to find the commander and get out of here. And from what Liara was telling them, his attack team had taken a beating.

They found him lying atop the observation deck, in front of the containment tank. It was awash in green smoke, and a sickly colored liquid sizzled and boiled at the bottom. If anything was in there, it was sure to have been melted into a puddle of goo. And everyone knew what had been in there: the rachni queen.

Garrus nodded his head approvingly; his people still remembered the horrors of the rachni war, even all these centuries later. The rachni were the scary bedtime monster stories they told their children about. Wrex grunted, a small grin on his face; his people had been the ones to turn the tide of the war, to finally defeat the rachni. Maybe the rachni weren't as extinct as they thought, or should, have been. All it took was commander Shepard to put the final nail in the coffin. The skull he wore on his faceplate said it all.

The others couldn't blame Shepard for killing the rachni either. The rachni were responsible for the worst war in the history of the galaxy. They had waged a war that pushed everyone to their brink, and only through uniting against it, the galaxy had beaten them at impossible odds. No one would risk releasing that thing back out into the world. Some thought he should have handed it over to the council so they could confine it. But in the end, they all knew that the rachni could not be allowed to spread; the result was the same, whether they were ended here and now or by the citadel council. So in the final analysis, while everyone may not have agreed with the extent of his means (method), they all agreed with his ends (consequences).

Wrex slung the commander over his shoulder. Being the biggest, he would be the best one to carry him. Yet Wrex was never gentle, and the commander yelped in pain.

"Time to get us all out of here," Kaiden said.

John coughed, trying to hide his groans of pain, before speaking. "Wait, there's one more thing. We need to go to the basement and detonate the neutron bomb. That'll clear out the rachni for good."

It had been a long, bloody day. The team was tired and beaten up. Nevertheless, they marched forward towards their new objective. Whether they agreed or disagreed, an apparent extinction had already been committed. The least they could do was finish the job and put down the insane bugs in the basement.

* * *

(SSV Normandy, 8 hours post-mission)

Everyone except the commander sat at the table. It was dinner time. Well, it was 4 in the morning, but they were all hungry like no tomorrow. Patching all of them up had been a logistical nightmare for Dr. Chakwas, but at least most of their injuries were minor. And Wrex didn't count, he could regenerate.

Their jobs were messy. Their lives were often put at risk. The situations they had witnessed were brutal. But for one reason or another, they all found purpose in their work here on the Normandy. Today was a testament to that; they were one step closer to hunting down Saren and stopping him before he killed more innocent people. They'd saved the lives of the researchers in the hot labs. What they were doing was worth the pain.

Maybe the bland military rations didn't make up for their effort, but they knew grand things were at play, things that could end modern civilization if they didn't do anything about it. They all knew that, whether they admitted it or not.

Shepard lay in the infirmary, wrapped in more splints, compression wraps, and bandages than he would like. His blood was chocked full of chemicals to facilitate the healing process: anticoagulants, IFG-1 growth factors and growth hormone, antibiotics, and inflammation medication. He had over a dozen fractures across multiple bones; three broken ribs; first degree burns dotted his skin, turning it red. Chakwas had to operate on his shoulder to repair his acromioclavicular joint that had been damaged, both from Shepard's fights and from his battlefield "repair" afterward.

He was a mess. However, knowing the commander's stubbornness, Chakwas gave him about four days until he was on his feet; maybe a week and a half before he was insisting on going into combat again. She couldn't stop him or convince him to take better care of himself. It's like he had a death wish, and yet every time, he still came back alive somehow. He should have been taken to a proper hospital for treatment, but the commander insisted that they continue their mission while he recovered on the Normandy.

She could have overruled him; it was in her authority as the ship's medical officer. However, the nihilist she had met months ago had found something he, for once, partially wanted to do. She could only assume why. She was never included in the mission briefings; she was a doctor, not a soldier, after all. But from the whispers and rumors, she could piece it together. Commander Shepard had seen the reapers from the beacon. He thought it was just a nightmare. However, with each day that went forward, with each knew piece of evidence that was acquired, an inevitable truth, a certainty, became apparent: the reapers were coming to kill everyone. Shepard was never sure about anything; his life, what to do with it, why he bothered trying, these were all open ended, and he liked it like that. Even he could not try and predict his future. He had fully embraced the randomness of life, and he did not like being told what he should, or would, do. Yet now he could be sure about one thing: the reapers. They gave him something: the certainty of a particular future: death by genocide. He was not afraid of his death or that of others; he was afraid of being forced into a certain death. He didn't want to stop the reapers because he wanted redemption, at least not yet. He wanted to stop them so he could give a big, fat middle finger to destiny. Because if destiny was a lie, it meant he was free, and if he was free, he could change, and if he could change, then maybe he could die a partially miserable person as opposed to completely. But if destiny was real, if our lives were a script, then we were condemned to a future, even if we did not know that future yet. Given how his life had been going thus far, he doubted his future destiny, if it existed, left anything much to be desired.

He never trusted anyone to do anything. He was always second guessing, doubting, pushing people away. He only now worked with a team because the scope of this mission was so vast, even he had to accept that he did not have all the skills needed to complete it. However, that didn't mean he would take a step back. If he wanted to stop the reapers and Saren, he trusted no one but himself to lead the charge.

* * *

The weather was cold and dark, to say the least. It was basically a frozen and barren wasteland. The conditions were less than optimal for a home. It would have to keep searching, as this planet would not do. It would need to somehow commandeer a ship, leave this planet, and scour the galaxy for a safe place away from the others. It faced impossibly slim odds, but it was the last of its kind. It had to succeed. She would grasp at whatever chance she was given. She did not want to squander what was given to her: a future.

Commander Shepard had been an interesting, although unpleasant figure to meet. It's not that she disliked or hated him; he was the one to spare her, after all; it was something inside of him that just scared her. She didn't need to be human, or any other race for that matter, to tell that most others shared this view.

Her release, and therefore her existence, would be a secret that only the two of them knew about, at least for the near future. She was sure that when he opened the control panel and hovered over the buttons that she was dead. She could have tried killing him with that corpse, but possessing a corpse and making it kill were two very different things. By the time the commander was making the decision, the body had ceased to function completely. With ATP no longer being produced, and oxygen and sugar no longer being supplied to the dying cells, they would stop moving at some point. Besides, if she had killed him, his team would have found him and hunted her down.

His song was sad and frightening. His notes were erratic and random, pure chaos. There was no melody, no unity; there was not even really a song; it was just noise. It hurt the ears and the mind, almost like the songs of her own lost children. The notes left a foul taste in the mouth, almost like poison. She had not known him long, but it was clear that his story was one of sadness and pain, a story of endless contradictions and self-deception.

When his eyes had looked back up at the cage, at her, with a fierce determination, she knew that he was clearly angry that he had to make any decision at all. The chaos had reached a crescendo, and then he had smashed his fist down on the display.

She could only clearly discern one note amidst the noise. A deep, rumbling staccato that was barely audible. It was hidden, deep in the background, overshadowed by the shear silence. It was impossible to remember the Commander by the chaos that surrounded that note, so she decided to only use that single note. It was a song she would never forget, the song she owed thanks to. This note was only the beat of a song. It was missing many pieces to complete a symphony. Yet that was the beauty of creating a new melody. When one starts a new song, there are endless possibilities, both good and bad; but it was the possibility that beautiful sounds would arise that made the risk of composing worth it.

* * *

He'd lied to everyone, to the council and even his team. He gave the rachni a chance. He wanted to hope, even though hope always spit back in his face; hope was a lie, but it was all he had left. The rachni would be the answer to the question.

Yet, even if they one day far into the future answered the question, he still knew one thing: the rachni were irreparably marked. Forever, next to their name, would be an asterisk and a warning. No matter how much good they could possibly do in the future, no matter how far they went to undo the damage and make peace, they would always be remembered for the rachni war. He doubted anyone would give them a second chance, and nobody could blame the people who refused to give that second chance; the rachni had done it to themselves. That was even assuming the rachni kept their word. They might as well breed an army and kill all over again.

He shut his eyes. It was time to sleep and rest in the clutches of darkness. Hope was always a lie. A lie like the acid he released into the tank after he had already released the queen. Another secret needed to be buried in the farthest reaches of the commander's mind.


	35. Don't try to be me

A/N: I'm really sorry. This was supposed to be posted last week, but I got indecisive and rewrote portions of the chapter.

* * *

Shepard sat in the comm room, waiting for Garrus. John had arrived thirty minutes earlier, but he really had nothing to do anyway. Lie in his cabin, lie in this chair with his feet kicked up, it did not matter, not to him; if he wasn't in combat killing people, then he was useless.

What Garrus wanted to meet about, he wasn't sure; in the brief time they had spoken, the turian seemed agitated and nervous, almost like he was anticipating something dangerous, or probably, someone. It appeared to be something personal, but beyond that, Shepard could not tell.

The turian entered. His blue-black armor glistened under the light; it had clearly been cleaned recently, probably a habit from Garrus' time in the military. The turian again appeared agitated and uncomfortable.

"Shepard," the turian slurred, "thanks for taking the time." He took a seat opposite from the commander.

Shepard sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, giving his full attention. "Skip the pleasantries, what's this about?" Rude? Probably. Did Shepard care? No. However, he doubted the turian would care either. He assumed Garrus would prefer it that way; no need for bullshit or pleading or convincing; after all, that's what Shepard always preferred, just get it out of the way. It was an inhuman way of looking at the world. But there was irony in that view. When so much of personal interaction had been corrupted and mutated to climb the societal ladder, there was something strikingly fair and honest in putting your true self out there, even if it was rude.

The turian cleared his throat. "As you know, I worked as a cop for a number of years on the citadel."

Shepard nodded his head.

"I've worked on a lot of cases; murders, rapes, thefts, you name it, I've probably solved it. But there was one case I could never solve." His eyes were unfocused, almost as if he were in another world. Something was no doubt eating him up inside, quiet anger hidden beyond a stoic face. He was trying to remember what he wanted to say. "It was a Salarian Medical Doctor named Saleon."

Garrus waited for Shepard to tell him to continue, but the commander remained fixated right at him. So he continued with his story. "He was an expert in genetics and had been conducting research on the citadel."

Shepard snorted. It was beginning to seem that the high praise society gave its doctors was slowly but surely being rewritten. Instead of being remembered for saving people's lives, they seemed to be increasingly remembered for their brutality, the monsters they created, and for abusing people. Cerberus, Noveria, Saleon, and many others were unwittingly leading this charge.

"A person collapsed one day in the wards, holding their gut. I thought they were a drug mule…uhhh," Garrus tried finding words to explain police jargon to the commander, "transporting drugs they'd eaten that were wrapped in plastic. Usually, there aren't any problems; they sneak it through security and then retrieve them in a bathroom. But sometimes, they explode inside." Garrus exhaled deeply, angry with himself; if he'd only seen the signs sooner, acted faster, he could have prevented all this. "So I arrested him and sent him to the hospital."

"What they find?" Shepard asked halfheartedly, clearly uninterested. He didn't care for Garrus' tale. It was no doubt important to the officer, but Shepard already felt like he knew what this was building up to: tracking someone down, maybe killing them. It's the only thing anyone ever needed from him. To have a life defined by the taking of life was not the happiest.

"It wasn't drugs. They found extra organs growing inside him, some half-formed. Except Saleon's procedure hadn't been performed properly. Whatever gene's Saleon had changed in his experiment, he didn't do it right. In this patient, the organs' cells were rapidly dividing, forming tumors. I pressed him for more information, to tell me who did this and where I could find them. Eventually, when he found out he was going to die, he finally cracked. Saleon had been running an entire operation. He'd grow organs inside of poor, desperate people, harvest them, and then sell them on the black market to the richest scumbag who was about to die."

Shepard felt a pang in his gut, a small hint of emotion. He'd been poor once; he could have just as easily ended up in one of these gruesome procedures. People of means always wondered why the poor engaged in criminal activity; they would always tell them oh don't sell drugs, oh don't engage with the black market, oh don't listen to people who promise you things that are too good to be true. They should shut their mouth; until they've tasted desperate, they would never understand the lengths people would go to for a warm meal, or medicine for the most basic of illnesses. Some might say that the poor didn't have a choice, and Shepard could understand this view. However, he saw things a little differently; they did have a choice, it just wasn't the choice they wanted.

"He'd lied to them, telling them that it would pay well, that the procedure was safe, but it wasn't. At the end, he would give them next to nothing while he kept a bounty for himself; sometimes, the procedure would go wrong, and he would just leave the organs inside of his victims, just like this person."

Educated people always like to act like they are the most moral, as if years competing and trying to undercut each other in a classroom or lecture hall somehow imbued them with empathy. Lies. Everyone has the capacity to be a monster, it didn't matter who you were. All you needed was one little push. He knew his own; he wondered what had pushed Saleon; sometimes, he even wondered what had pushed Saren. Had anyone ever been able to leave the void?

"I'm assuming he got away?" There wouldn't be any other reason Garrus would bother bringing this up. The mention of this fact clearly hurt the turian. The fierce anger in Garrus' eyes was replaced by shame as he looked at the floor.

"Yes, I…I failed. I was too slow. By the time I'd gotten permission from C-Sec to search his place, he had already gotten on a private ship. He was fleeing the station, and there was only one way to stop him: I asked citadel control to shoot him down. They refused, said it risked too many lives if they missed. I argued that Saleon would just hurt more people in the future if we didn't stop him now. But I was denied, and he got away. Afterward, C-Sec forced me to close the case, as if nothing had happened, as if people hadn't died!" Garrus had started quietly, but as his story reached its conclusion, the force he gave to his words grew until he was basically yelling in anger.

Shepard had always been surprised by the turians decision to leave c-sec and join him. It was a death sentence, Garrus was better off sitting behind his desk at C-sec, protected on the citadel by the vast citadel fleet. However, as time went on, and Garrus ranted more and more with stories of corruption and abuse and bureaucratic inefficiencies, it became clear why Garrus made his decision. He believed that his purpose was justice, that he was supposed to stand up for the little guy that followed the rules. Yet everywhere he went, he found his hands shackled, and he became unable to do his job. Garrus thought here, aboard the Normandy, he would fulfill his purpose, unrestrained by rules. So far, he hadn't been disappointed.

"I don't have anything on this doctor, Garrus," Shepard stated, just so he made it clear that he wasn't hiding anything behind his spectre authority.

Garrus' left arm jumped to the omnitool on his right, pulling up the coordinates. "I don't need you to tell me where he is. I already know that. I came to ask if you could take me to him so I can end this."

Shepard shrugged. They didn't have any leads on Saren; they had nowhere urgent they needed to go. It couldn't hurt. "Give it to Joker, tell him to take us there."

The turian bared his teeth and mandibles in a fierce grin. He was being consumed by his anger and lust for revenge. Although, a crack appeared through the façade: "Thank you, Shepard."

John took a second to collect his thoughts. All this felt… familiar; different circumstances, same storyline. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked cryptically.

"I need to stop him, Shepard. If I don't, who will?" This wasn't a matter of want. Saleon had to be found, to learn that his crimes wouldn't go forever unpunished. Saleon needed to understand, and Garrus needed to believe, that justice was still real, that it hadn't been killed off by our decadence.

What pissed Garrus off was the fact that somebody was murdered. They were murdered and he couldn't arrest the person who did it, even though he was a c-sec officer. He'd failed, even though he'd promised that he would find the person responsible. Garrus had let Saleon escape into the galaxy, harming even more people for years on end. He truly believed he was a terrible cop, although for different reasons than his superiors always told him. He'd allowed countless people to be abused, harmed, and even killed; it was all his fault. _No, it was the system's fault. They were the ones who stopped me._ Unfortunately, generating excuses does little to console the dead; nobody cares about how you fucked up, only how you can fix it.

Garrus was certain about his mission: find Saleon. However, once he found the doctor, he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do.

* * *

The Normandy slowly approached Saleon's ship. It was a large cargo freighter, at least it seemed to be one from the outside. Its pilot had agreed to stop the ship; he knew he shouldn't, that they risked Saleon being discovered; but the alternative was trying to run away, which made them look guilty, then having their engines shot, then being boarded. Their only hope was that whoever boarded this ship would not find the labs.

Garrus stood at the airlock, assault rifle already in hand. He hadn't asked anyone to come with him. This was a personal matter, one he would take care of himself. Besides, they would just get in his way and prevent him from doing what needed to be done.

"Alright, the airlock is secure. You're clear to board, Garrus."

"Thanks," the turian mumbled. He was too concentrated on the task ahead of him to worry about thanking a crippled pilot. But one thing did catch his attention; heavy footsteps on the Normandy's deck. He turned around to face this person. The soldier was suited in his combat armor; its paint had been chipped, revealing the silver-gray metal underneath, and in some places, the armor plates had been dented. It was Shepard.

Garrus' mouth hung open for a second as he tried to form words. This was his mission; he didn't need anyone risking themselves for him. "Shepard, you're not healed yet," he stated, "you can't come." It was a true fact, but his intent was to prevent Shepard from going, not prevent him from harm.

Shepard couldn't tell if Garrus' excuse was bullshit or not. He didn't care. He was going with the turian, one way or another. There were a number of reasons. For starters, he didn't feel like sending one of his soldiers out there alone; that was asking for a tragedy. Secondly, Shepard was just straight up nosey; he wanted to see this Dr. Saleon for himself, to see Garrus' story with his own eyes. Most of all, Shepard was coming to make sure Garrus didn't do anything stupid. Besides the aches and pains he was in, he felt like stretching his muscles anyway. He'd had nothing to do recently, and was bored out of his mind.

"My ship, my rules. I'm going."

Garrus opened his mouth to respond, to say some argument to try and stop Shepard from coming with him. Except he stopped himself. It was fruitless. It was Shepard's ship, he was the commanding officer; he could do whatever he wanted, within reason; well, since he was also a spectre, it actually could be anything. Furthermore, Shepard was doing Garrus a favor; he didn't have to detour the Normandy from its course, or even let Garrus go on this mission. "Fine," he hissed, "but don't get in my way."

Shepard nodded his head, the red skull of his helmet nodding up and down as well, almost comically. The skull used to be bright red, like blood from a fresh kill. Now, like the rest of the custom paint job, it was slowly fading. The skull was now a darker red, almost like dried blood.

The airlock door opened. Garrus went through first with Shepard close behind. On the other side, they were met with a Batarian. Shepard's mood instantly soured looking at its four eyes and the disgusting folds of skin on its head. But he would keep himself in check, at least for now; it was Garrus' mission.

"Welcome. I'm Forvan Propkaral, a spice trader. How can I help you today?" It was fake, so fake. It hurt Shepard's ears. He hated when people just tried to butter you up so they could trick or take advantage of you.

"We're conducting routine searches of ships in the area. There have been reports of weapons smuggling."

The Batarian clasped his hands together, smiling warmly. "I have paperwork approved by port authorities as to the contents of my cargo. You don't need to worry."

It was so obvious that he was hiding something. "We're still searching this ship," Garrus stated.

The batarian's smile wavered, his eyes narrowed. He was getting ticked off and suspicious that the day he had feared had finally arrived. "Do you have a search warrant with you? This is flagrant discrimination against hardworking batarians. Why can't you just leave us alone?"

Shepard stepped forward, interjecting himself into the conversation with a loud, disheartened sigh. "Council spectre John Shepard. We don't need a warrant. Cooperate and this will be over quickly." John had no doubt that the Saleon Garrus was looking for was indeed here. Yes, it would all be over for anyone on this ship very soon.

* * *

They found him in the back of the ship, cowering under a lab table like a coward. The harsh lights of the room hurt his eyes. Vats filled with bubbling liquid lined the walls, each containing clumps of flesh hanging from wires and tubes. Shepard thought he saw some human organs; he recognized them because he had seen them scattered across the battlefield from exploded bodies; the sight brought back gruesome memories, but he was so used to it he didn't even flinch anymore.

"Dr. Heart, how are you?" Garrus mocked sarcastically. "It's been a long time. Too long, actually." He reached forward with one hand, grabbing Saleon's arm and dragging him out from under the table.

His legs shook with fear. His eyes were wide, as if Salarian eyes couldn't get any wider. He leaned away from Garrus, afraid. Garrus obliged and released his grip on Saleon's arm, causing the doctor to fall to the ground. The turian then proceeded to plant a kick into the Salarian's abdomen. "How's business been," Garrus asked, glee in his voice.

Saleon cried out in pain and tried to crawl away from his attacker. Garrus stomped down on his leg, painfully preventing him from moving. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Is this him, Garrus?" Shepard didn't exactly care about what happened to the Salarian. Dead, alive, or somewhere in between, it made no difference to him as long as it was the right person.

"This is Dr. Saleon alright."

"I don't know who that is!" the salarian screamed, only to be silenced by the butt of Garrus' assault rifle.

"Shut up!" Garrus roared, mandibles spread wide in anger.

Shepard saw what was happening; it felt familiar; he couldn't hold anything against the turian. "What now?" Shepard asked. He'd believed that Garrus would want to put the doctor in custody, send him to court, and let him rot in jail for the rest of his life. However, at the rate Garrus was going, that reality was quickly fading. Shepard didn't particularly care either way. People like Dr. Saleon had it coming to them for a long time.

"You're going to give me everything about your operation. Who you work for, who works for you. You're all going to pay." This wasn't justice; it was justice's corrupted brother, revenge. "Start talking," Garrus demanded.

Saleon remained silent. At least, until he felt the cold barrel of a gun against the back of his head. He spat it all out, wailing like a little girl all the way. It's so funny how quickly stubborn denial turned into pleading and pleas for forgiveness when your life was at risk. People could live with who they pretended to be, yet they wouldn't die for who they pretended to be.

During Garrus' interrogation, Shepard walked around the lab. It was mostly cold metal, spartan in its furnishings, even the lone desk. Shepard approached it. Neat stacks of tablets were on top, no doubt sorted by some sort of category. Only one item stood out: a wooden picture frame. It showed Dr. Saleon and another person; he was shorter than Saleon, but his face was younger; in fact, it almost looked like a younger version of Dr. Saleon. Maybe it was his son? Shepard shrugged and walked away; it didn't matter to him. Just because you have a family doesn't mean you don't get to die.

Garrus attached the OSD drive to his belt. It contained all of Saleon's files, contacts, and whatnot. Saleon had no honor; he squealed when his life was on the line instead of keeping his promises of trust. People always show you who they really are, but only ever in their last moments; Shepard had seen people change demeanor faster than the blink of an eye; Saleon had been no exception. Now, he was begging, apologizing, trying to spin the story as if he had no choice but to do the things he had done. Yet Garrus didn't want to hear any of it.

Garrus shot him in the stomach, and Saleon crumpled to the floor, clutching the wound as green blood flowed out. "Wait, please…"

Shepard just stood and watched. He was witnessing a culmination of years of pent up anger. It felt familiar; the anger that blinded you; the catharsis from killing the object of your anger; the emptiness afterward, knowing that you just lost another part of yourself. Garrus had lived a life of service to others; as a soldier, as a cop, and now trying to hunt down Saren, his own kind; what he was about to do was unbefitting of him.

The turian closed in on his target. "This ends here and now. You won't get to hurt any more people!" The turian approached, his latest step landing tentatively as if he was suddenly unsure of what to do. Garrus Vakarian, in the back of his mind, vaguely knew that this wasn't justice, that this was murder.

"I don't, not anymore, I swear. I don't use people to grow the organs!" Saleon screamed as if it was some sort of vindication, pointing to the glass tanks that lined the walls. "I save lives now! Without my organs, thousands would die." Shepard snorted quietly to himself. What you did now never made up for your past. He knew that, and whether or not Saleon knew it, the doctor would find out for himself very soon.

"You think that excuses the things you've done, the lives you've taken!" Garrus roared. It was more likely than not that Saleon was telling the truth. His lab full of bloody instruments from years ago was now replaced with tissue vats. They hadn't found any people being stowed away as organ farms.

Saleon saw Garrus hesitate, saw the indecision in his eyes and the way his rifle inch by inch wavered to the ground, and decided to cash in his chips. "I have a family, a son."

"No, no you don't get to play this game," Garrus spat. He was suddenly disgusted with himself, at the fact that he was hesitating. Is this how he would avenge the dead? He raised his assault rifle to fire. Saleon was going to die, it didn't matter what family he had or if he was defenseless. He would suffer the same fate as all his victims.

Shepard watched the situation, watched Garrus struggle and fail to kill Saleon. He could tell Garrus was a good person. He might at times be cold and calculating, but he stood by a set of principles, a code. John didn't think Garrus was ready to flush it all down the drain. Once you stepped outside of your lines, you could never go back in. Once you broke your own rules, justifying it with some exception or another, there was no reason you wouldn't break them again in the future; you just needed to generate another excuse, another reason. It was all downhill from there. Garrus wouldn't leave here unless Saleon was dead. It's what Saleon deserved, and it's what Garrus wanted. Don't get it wrong, Garrus had killed before, but only when he had to, when he was being attacked or those who he protected were being attacked.

John didn't want to spread outward like a poison, even though it was inevitable; everything he touched, everyone he "associated" with (if you could say Shepard associated at all), was sooner or later corrupted just by being near him; and by corrupted I mean either dead or having witnessed enough violence to become numb to it. In his past, Shepard had killed, ordered people killed, ordered people to kill others; men and women had followed Shepard into combat, never to return; his soldiers had been forced to witness the most deplorable of actions.

Wrex, he was damaged from the start, like Shepard. There was nothing more to take away. John had heard the stories about the genophage and the centuries of war that followed. Wrex was a battle-hardened warrior and mercenary who got paid to kill people.

Liara had already been forced to watch her mother die by his hands. To know that even the kindest of people could become an unrecognizable monster scared her. Moreover, her sheltered life on the Asari homeworld had prepared her little for the harsh realities of the real world, the world away from academia or opulence. If anything, Liara had probably the worst dose. She'd been inside the commander's head; his thoughts were now swimming in there, slowly poisoning the well. She would never forget the memories of the things she had seen in there.

Ashley was haunted by Eden Prime, her thoughts filled with regret about what she could have done differently to save her friends, and anger slowly building against Saren, wanting to put the bullet in his head herself. She was a devout Christian. Each time, she would whisper prayers to god before combat. Eventually, she would discover that God was dead, that he wasn't coming to save her or those she prayed for. There was no heaven or hell, no cosmic justice. She had sold herself on a crumbling lie, one that eroded slightly each time a prayer wasn't answered.

The quarian had already lost her friends before she'd met Shepard; she was naïve and optimistic, yet day by day, each time she went with the team into combat, she'd lose a little bit of that optimism. Seeing people dying around you, for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, takes its toll. And let's not forget the way the galaxy was treating her; if she didn't leave here a hardened soldier, she would at the minimum take away that the rumors she'd heard on the fleet were true, that all species hated quarians.

Alenko would slowly and painfully learn that people don't change. His life had been almost as crappy as Shepard's: ripped away from his parents, basically tortured on a space station, and given implants that still caused him agony even today. Not even his hands were clean; after all, he'd let his emotions get the best of him, he killed to protect those that he had cared about before. Yet, despite all this, the man somehow maintained a positive outlook on life and had buried his demons. Maybe for now, he would keep his morals, but all it would take was the death of something he cared about to again awake the demon that he'd buried. And the problem about caring about life so much: each death that Alenko would watch, each life he'd failed to save, would eat at him until he realized morality didn't matter. Shepard could already see it in his eyes: the way he looked down in shame each time an innocent died; and in the way he would quietly scold himself after missions for not being fast enough.

And now the latest victim was Garrus Vakarian, who wanted to murder a person in cold blood. The slight glee in his eyes as he'd beaten the Salarian was unmistakable: he had been enjoying toying with someone who was about to die. That feeling, of being in control, of playing god with someone's life as their fate rested in your hands, it was intoxicating. It made you feel powerful, as if it made up for all the times when you had no control. And Shepard had given Garrus both the power and opportunity to do so.

Yes, Shepard would watch all these people crumble around him, just as he had. It took a certain mindset, a certain view of the world and its people, to do the "jobs" Shepard did. That's why the alliance chose him to do what others could not, to take the jobs that needed to be done but nobody wanted to do. Except now, Shepard had begrudgingly accepted a job, and this time, he'd somehow gotten others to willingly follow him straight into hell, metaphorically, and over time, literally.

Even though he was heartless, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He felt guilty because he was afraid he would take away the one thing his crew had that he did not: the fulfillment from doing something that they felt was important. They had somehow found purpose and clung to it, despite the harshness of the world. After missions, despite the sadness and fear they felt, they still somehow found a way to laugh and smile and enjoy life. Shepard was lost, a dead man inside. However, he would try his hardest to prevent his crew from becoming like him, even if they sometimes wanted to. Garrus would thank him one day, eventually; he would realize that the satisfaction from a completed task would fade, but the consequences never would. Garrus would be grateful, but Shepard wasn't after their thanks. He just hated himself so much he didn't want others to be like him.

"Garrus, wait!"

The turian was knocked out of his trance-like state. His eyes, which had been focused like lasers on the target he was about to fire at, became hazy as he tried searching for the sound. "Shepard," he growled through clenched teeth. He knew it was his mission, and he knew what needed to be done. Despite this, Shepard was still his commander and Garrus was still a soldier. You become accustomed to following the orders of your commanding officer when you've been fighting by their side for months. However, it didn't mean he liked stopping. "What is it?"

John approached Garrus until he was standing right in front of him, with the doctor crumpled on the floor between them. "You should go, leave this place, leave Saleon."

The turian was dumbstruck, shocked…the words were indescribable. He wasn't sure he had heard Shepard correctly. "That's not going to happen, Commander."

Shepard's hand pushed Garrus' rifle so it was no longer pointing at Saleon's body. "I'm trying to stop you from making a mistake. I don't believe you understand what you're about to do."

"Justice! For the lives he's taken, the people he's abused. He deserves to die for what he's done!" Garrus replied forcefully. Garrus was not looking for justice, not in the case of Saleon. Justice meant arresting Saleon and letting the courts do their work, even if the courts inevitably messed up and let Saleon out. No, Garrus was looking to kill the doctor. Shepard respected Garrus' privacy enough not to ask. It was probably complicated and messy, something Shepard didn't want to get himself involved in; after all, he was a soldier, not a therapy worker.

"Believe me, I know he does, but that doesn't mean you should do it."

Garrus pulled his rifle close to his body, shaking the commander's hand off of it. He didn't like having his weapon chained down. "What right do you have to tell me that? You, who blew up an entire building and killed over a hundred people on that asteroid, who slaughtered an entire Cerberus research facility all by himself. I have that right just as much as you do, commander!"

John gulped and hung his head in shame. He couldn't help but feel the least bit embarrassed at being called out, at being shown as hypocritical, but there was nothing he could do about it. After a moment, he took off his helmet. He wanted Garrus to see his face, to see the darkness that lay behind his eyes. "You don't think I know that? I relive my mistakes over and over again every morning, regretting the things I've done, wishing I could make it right, but I can't."

Shepard paused for a moment, allowing time to ensure that Garrus absorbed and processed every word. Shepard agreed that Saleon should die. The doctor had made a very lucrative living off the backs of the poor. However, deserving death and actually killing the person were very different thinks. What Garrus wanted to do, that was murder, not justice. John did not care about the fact that murder was occurring. John just wasn't sure Garrus would want to live with the burden afterward. "Maybe you'll feel good now after you murder him, but what of tomorrow when you look at yourself in the mirror, and that feeling fades. What are you going to tell yourself? You're not a murderer Garrus, don't become one. You've never had to carry the burden of knowing you've murdered a defenseless person; the guilt of having to take away someone's family member; you've never suffered the endless dreams where the faces of the dead haunted you. You don't want that." John backed off, retreating from Garrus. He wasn't going to get into a fight with the turian. "Please." It was like a plea from an innocent child. The helmet went back on, and Shepard stood at attention, now silent. At least he could say 'I tried.'

* * *

(9 hours post-mission)

Garrus was noticeably withdrawn from the rest of the crew. He was a little ticked, so he relegated himself to his favorite hobby: tinkering with the Mako. He didn't understand why Shepard had bothered stopping him. Although, Garrus knew that while his goal had been to kill Saleon, killing him was just a desire. He would have to learn to let it go and become content in the fact that he had solved this case. He was, after all, a cop; that's what he should strive for. Saleon was in custody or would be soon enough. Garrus would focus on helping Shepard take down Saren; whether he was happy or mad at Shepard, the galaxy remained at risk, and he wouldn't let a petty disagreement jeopardize the mission. However, it didn't mean he was happy about what happened today.

He put down his wrench and rolled out from under the Mako. He sat up and looked around him; there was nobody; everyone had probably already gone to bed while he had been engrossed in the vehicle. Well, more like directing his anger towards something productive. His eyes felt heavy, but he still didn't feel like sleeping. His thoughts were still occupied with the events of the day.

Garrus realized he was thirsty. He wished he had some turian whiskey to numb himself out, but that wasn't exactly on board the ship. He got to his feet and walked towards the elevator. At this time of night, it was almost comforting; there was no one to watch or judge you. It was just you, and you acted for yourself. It was lonely, but there was something special about it. He could vent his anger without being judged, without being questioned or asked about why he'd change the oil, replaced the brakes, tuned the transmission, realigned the axle, and the myriads of other fixes that were completely unneeded because the thing was already in tiptop shape.

The elevator opened to the second floor of the Normandy: the crew deck. He'd steal a drink from the mess. Was he supposed to? No. Did he care at this moment? No. He rounded the corner of the elevator. A figure was at the table, slumped over, their back facing him. It was the last person he wanted to see: Shepard. However, it appeared that he was sleeping. Why he wasn't in his nice, cushy cabin, Garrus couldn't tell.

He carefully tiptoed towards the supply cabinets, trying his best not to wake the commander. But his hopes were dashed.

"The dextro stuff is kept in the cabinets on the righthand side, if that's what you're looking for."

Garrus sighed rather loudly. He didn't fancy hearing the commander's voice, and he didn't want to turn and face him. But he would look just as guilty if he continued on as if he hadn't heard Shepard. "Thanks," he replied slowly, but his feet didn't move. He felt trapped. The freeness of being the only one awake had been dashed.

Garrus' behavior was not lost on the commander, and unlike most people, he had little respect for the feelings of others, partly out of ignorance and partly out of indifference. "Still mad?" The question was genuine, but it sounded more like a taunt than the sincere inquiry it was supposed to be.

Garrus clenched one of his hands into a fist and closed his eyes. Mad? No, he was way past that. He was enraged, he was just really good at controlling it; a decade of being shit on by c-sec officers tended to do that to you. Now, it seemed that Shepard was just as bad, tying his hands and stopping him from doing what needed to be done. But was that really true? The commander had only given advice, a warning for Garrus to heed; then he had stepped back and given Garrus the option. The turian realized the true extent of is pettiness. Shepard hadn't stopped him, he'd just given his opinion, an opinion that Garrus for better or worse had chosen to listen to. He hadn't killed Saleon.

No, no, no, he had the right to be mad. Instead of feeling guilty for killing Saleon, as Shepard had warned, Garrus was feeling guilty for letting him go. "Do you just ever fuck off?" he finally replied to Shepard's question.

Shepard sighed. He didn't care that the turian was mad at him. He didn't have friends and wasn't looking for them. "Usually, yes, I do."

Garrus turned to face the commander, eyes narrowed in anger. "Then why start now?" he asked accusingly.

"Because…because I'm scared. I'm scared that you would make the same mistakes I did." He looked down at the table. He couldn't bear to face Garrus. Images of the faces of the people he'd killed streamed through his mind's eye. It was far worse than just a mistake; these people amounted to more than a mistake; they branded him a cold-blooded murderer. It's what he was, and he hated it.

"You're the biggest fucking hypocrite I've ever seen, you know that?" Garrus pointed an accusatory finger at Shepard. "You're a lonely, sick fuck, and no wonder. It's cause you're full of shit."

"I know." He was full of shit, he was a fucked-up person, he was a hypocrite. There was no point in denying it. He knew what he was, so there was no point in trying to defend his ego because he had none. He assumed most people would expect him to beat their face in after those comments, but he didn't feel like doing that. Garrus had spoken the truth, albeit unwittingly; he wasn't trying to insult the commander. He was just trying to understand him, and he'd spoken out loud by accident.

At Shepard's unexpectedly tame response, Garrus wasn't sure what to say. In the silence that filled the room and ate up the time afterward, he realized what he had said and who he had sad it to: his commanding officer, which also just so happened to be one of the most temperamental and vicious people in existence. He lowered his arm and stopped pointing at Shepard. He tried to form words, but he wasn't sure what to say. "Shepard I… I didn't mean…"

"It's fine Garrus. You weren't far off." He got up to leave. He was feeling pretty crappy, as if him sitting at the table were a waste of space and resources that could go to someone more deserving. "I'll leave you alone." He had more important things to contemplate and sulk about other than being roasted by a turian.

Garrus felt mortified. This was how he was repaying Shepard for taking the Normandy off-course to find Saleon, by insulting him and kicking him out of the mess? "Shepard, wait. I'm sorry."

Shepard laughed remorsefully, a quiet chuckle that Garrus could barely hear. It was a sad laugh, although, it wasn't really a laugh. "Don't be. I'm not offended." He put his hands in his pockets. John was tired, he didn't feel like fighting. He cared so little about anything anymore, so it was no surprise that he cared so little about himself. He'd been treated like crap and insulted his whole life. They'd laugh and point at the dumb kid from the streets. At least Garrus had enough insight to acknowledge that Shepard was far more than just a dumb kid from the streets, that Shepard was something much, much more twisted and darker.

"I should be thanking you for helping me catch Saleon, not doing this." He was still pissed about what happened, but he knew that Shepard was only doing the best he could. He stopped Garrus because he was trying to help, not because he was trying to mess with him.

"I didn't become a soldier because I wanted thanks, Garrus. You're the one who found him, not me. And I'm the last person you want to take advice from. I should have kept my mouth shut." He was trained to kill, not think. He was starting to believe that getting himself involved in such a personal situation was a mistake. He should have just shut up.

"No, I'm the one who messed up. I let my anger blind me."

Shepard didn't feel like staying around, even though the turian was apparently trying to reverse course. He didn't like sitting or talking with people anyway. It's why he only ever came to the mess during the middle of the night, so he could pretend that he was a normal soldier that sat at this table, but at the same time, not have to face his troops. He could lead them to their deaths, but he was too shy, embarrassed, and frankly, scared, to eat a meal with them. He didn't want to lose them so badly he would prefer not to get to know them first. That way, they could never be lost. Although, that was just a personal fantasy. Sooner or later, he'd reach a point where he would feel the loss when one of them died. He'd have to try and forestall it for as long as possible. One could say that he didn't care, so that's why he was trying to leave. But maybe the inverse was true: he would care so much that he would rather disengage from them entirely to spare himself the pain. Apparently, he was beginning to care enough to protect them, at least from themselves.

John only had one thing to say before he left: "You may not agree with me. Next time, I won't try to stop you. Just know that I warned you: revenge is a disease; it will eat you alive until nothing is left. If you ever cross over, if you ever become like me, there are things in the darkness that will keep you from ever seeing the light of day again." Shepard lowered his head and turned to walk towards his cabin. He'd given Garrus a mouthful of words, and he'd left before Garrus had time to ask questions about any of it.

That was okay. Garrus could connect the dots. The turian was slowly realizing an oversight he had made. Shepard had been speaking from experience. Garrus had before mentioned all the things the commander had done while Garrus had served on the Normandy. Shepard had done all those horrible things, killed all those people out of personal vendetta's, and he looked no happier. It was probably true that the last thing anyone should do was take advice from the commander; however, if there was one case they should heed his advice in, it was on what Shepard did best: killing. He watched Shepard disappear into his room.


	36. The Despair of Purpose

He was in a desert. He marched, one foot after the other, leaving indents in the sand behind him. His lips were parched, his tongue was dry, and the back of his throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls: he was thirsty. Yet, he had no water. Around him, dunes stretched far into the distance, and hazy mirages covered the sands that lay ahead of him; he thought those mirages were water, and everywhere around him he saw these mirages, but no matter which way or how far he walked, there was no water. He would choose a spot and lumber towards it, but the water would just disappear as he got there, as if it were running away from him and denying him any relief from the sun that beat down on him. He was lost in a vast desert, and he was crippled with despair at his inability to escape this place. It was his prison.

He reached the foot of a dune, one of the many endless ones that covered the desert; these were ephemeral structures of nature, constructed and destroyed by wind. He didn't know where to go, and he believed that he was for sure dead; he thought about maybe just turning around and finding another route to follow, one that didn't climb the dune. Yet he truly believed that he was lost and that he would die. If that was the case, going in one direction was as good as any other. He would die, that's all that mattered. So he started to climb the dune. Even with its shallow incline, he was too tired and fatigued to stand on his trembling legs; he collapsed onto his hands and knees and started to crawl forward.

The heat of the sand burned his hands. At first, the warmth was a small trickle, but with each second that passed, his hands got hotter and hotter and hotter. His dry throat struggled to scream out the pain his body was feeling. As he neared the top, and the dune's incline got steeper, he would find that with every foot he moved forward, he would slide back down the same distance. The lack of progress was agonizing; it made him angry; he wanted to punch and kick his way through the dune. A sarcastic smile crept over his face. It was useless to fight a sand dune; yes, it was composed of a billion small and infinitely unimportant parts; a single grain of sand was defenseless; but put together, it didn't matter how many you moved with a shovel, or scooped with your hands, or in his case punched with your fists; you would only shift a couple hundred grains over by a few inches.

His heart was filled with anguish, a great sadness at the nature of his predicament. He didn't know who he was, or why he was here, but he didn't want to fall and give up here and be swallowed by the sands and heat of the desert. He lunged for the top of the dune, his hands and feet clawing at the sand beneath him, desperate to propel himself up the side of the dune. He made it, he reached the top of the dune, but his body was too tired and broken to support himself on such a narrow peak. He rolled down the other side, tumbling down the slope, his hands and feet kicking up sand into the air.

He reached the base of the other side. He coughed and spat, for sand was in his mouth. He rubbed his closed eyes with his elbow, trying to remove the grains of sand that were trying to enter his eye. He heaved great gasps of air in and out of his lungs, but it gave him no relief: the air was too hot and dry.

He opened his eyes, and in the distance, he saw another mirage, yet again taunting him. He knew it was probably another lie, another tiny speck in the distance that would shrink and disappear as soon as he neared it, but he was a desperate man. No, he couldn't go out like this. He struggled to stand up, his legs quivering underneath him from weakness. He began to march forward again towards his new target.

With each step he took, each mile he covered, the mirage would grow and grow. The tiny speck that it was before slowly enlarged; he still couldn't tell what it was, but it was all he had. So he continued walking for what seemed like hours, stumbling through the desert like an old man.

The sun was setting by the time he could begin to make out what it was. A large black marble structure. It was a statue of untold proportions. It towered into the sky for the travelers of the desert like a lighthouse would for the boats of the ocean: no wonder he could see it from so far away. He approached it, and with every step he took, he had to appreciate its magnitude. It was a man, constructed out of solid black marble, standing atop a pedestal. He was regal and frightening. This statue, it was built for some important person… a king. Shepard should have been awed by its presence. Instead, he despised it. These men, they had been the ones to lead so many to ruin, to lead so many to die for wars they had no gain in.

Shepard had arrived at the statue late. No, not an hour or a day late. He had arrived decades, maybe even centuries too late; he could have been saved, could have been found by people, only if he had arrived all that time ago. But alas, this was the story of his life. He decided that he would die here, at the base of the statue. Then, he too would lie undisturbed in the vast emptiness of the desert for years on end, at least until another traveler like him arrived.

He stumbled towards the pedestal. The sky was dark, turning red and fading into purple: it was beautiful. He would die with this view; he could at least appreciate it. As he neared the base of the statue, he looked closer at the pedestal it stood on: a large, solid block of stone. Dense, immovable, unchanging; it could withstand the harshness of this place, unlike him; he, was weak.

In the dim light, he could barely make out an engraving. Letters had been delicately carved into the stone: _Submit, for you were born, live, and will die, all because I allow it._ The king was taunting his subjects, showing them how weak they were, how unable they were to sustain their own lives. And the king was right, Shepard was powerless before him. He sunk to his knees before the statue. No, he wasn't bowing out of respect, he was just too tired to continue on any longer. Beneath the initial engraving, in smaller letters, the carver of this stone continued: _Despair upon my works._

He suddenly felt himself growing older by the second. He looked down at his skin, and it slowly became translucent, the outlines of veins poking out from the worn flesh. The days and nights blended into one until it was just him and the statue and this infinite desert. He didn't know how much time had passed. It could have been years, centuries, even millennia. He had watched sandstorms come and go, clouds pass overhead, the stars shine against the sky, the mountains of sand shift and swarm in the distance. Little by little, he watched the angular corners of the pedestal become round. The smooth rock of the king's body slowly became pitted with ever expanding holes. The sharp features of his face and the precise indents of the engraving were gradually worn away. At first, Shepard had not realized the changes; they had been so small, almost imperceptible. However, one day, the changes were enough to differentiate from the day he had first reached this statue. He realized something: like him, the statue was growing old: it was dying.

Dust began to rain down on him, black powder from the king's outstretched hands. Shards of rock crumbled and fell to the ground. The base of the statue was forming cracks and splitting apart like it was being pushed apart from the inside. Shepard stood up again in front of the statue. He started to laugh, an evil, cynical roar of disdain. The king's statue, with its sneer of superiority and hand that had mocked him for all these years, was falling to pieces. Like him, it too would die here, in the vast desert, unadmired. He looked at the statue one last time as it slowly crumbled. The words on the pedestal had a crack running through them. _Despair upon my works,_ he read again. He looked down at his arm, the weak appendage that had once been a muscular weapon. That's when it hit him, when he stopped laughing and really began to feel despair. He wasn't despairing because the statue was so grand. He was despairing because like him, the statue that thought it would never die, that thought it would watch its subjects die in front of it while it would live forever, was crumbling. They were shadows of their former selves, the power they once had was fading.

The statues forearm fell off. Shepard watched it accelerate through the air and slam into the ground on his left, impacting with a loud thud. The statue broke at its knees, and it began to fall forward, to fall onto Shepard. He watched the black marble structure fall towards him, waiting for it to crush him.

* * *

Shepard jumped out of his bed and scrambled to turn the lights in the room on. His heart was racing, his shirt was soaked with sweat. It had been another nightmare, although he couldn't recall it; he usually never did remember them anyway. He was afraid of something, although of what, he could not tell. He put his head in his hands and listened to the sound of his own breathing, which was little better than ragged gasps.

He didn't know how much time had passed until he lowered his hands, opened his eyes, and looked around his room again. It was just him, he was alone, with nothing that could threaten or kill him. He thought he was being ridiculous, cowering and hiding his face like a child. In fact, he should never have fallen asleep at all. He was the commander of this vessel, and he was supposed to be on duty. He looked at the clock: 19:00. He had only wanted to close his eyes for five minutes, five minutes just so he could rest and shut out everything from his mind. He'd slept for five hours.

He rose to his feet and hurriedly opened his closet. He threw his damp, sweat-stained shirt to the ground and put on a new one. Looking at himself in the mirror, he pulled down the shirt so it was even and fixed the collar. He paused when he met his own eyes. Sometimes, it still shocked him that the person he saw in the mirror was him: it was horrifying. He still found it difficult to accept, and he wished what he saw was a different person. He feared that mirror. It wasn't because he was ugly or fat or out of shape; he feared the mirror because he could put a face to the person who had done all those horrible things in his memories. He was forced to realize that that person, the person he saw in the mirror, was him.

He turned to exit his cabin. The door slid open, and he suddenly recoiled. He heard sounds. Metal clanging, loud noises… it was forks and knives, it was people talking. _1900, shit._ He realized what time it was, what happened at 1900: it was dinner time. He always tried to hide himself during those times, so he wouldn't interrupt their meals by virtue of his presence, so he couldn't be asked to join them. He would get his food later, after everyone cleared out, and scarf it down in his cabin, away from everyone else.

He steeled his nerves in preparation for the impossible task that lay before him: walking by a few people while trying not to be noticed. He stepped forward, past the doorway of his cabin. Already, he could feel their eyes on him, watching him, judging his every little action. He hated it. The sounds of forks hitting plates slowed down, their conversations quieted, and Shepard was only halfway to the staircase that led to the command deck.

"Shepard, what are you running away from? Isn't my ugly face, is it?" It was Wrex, taunting him. Out of all of them, Wrex was most likely to do so anyway; at the end of the day, he was an eight-hundred-year-old krogan mercenary/bounty hunter who lived through a centuries-long civil war and the slow extinction of his species; what shits could he possibly give about one human soldier?

Shepard paused. He knew it would just be too weird to keep walking without saying anything. "No, just headed upstairs, Wrex." His voice was monotone and lacked any emotion. John hadn't even bothered to turn his head to face them as he replied. He couldn't bear to face them, to face anybody at all, especially at such a social event: dinner. Shepard had seen some of the movies, where the kid would come home and there would be a home-cooked meal on the table and they would eat it and talk about their day… it was something he never had.

Unfortunately, he was starting to get the feeling that he was full of shit, that he was the one stopping himself from becoming normal, not the world. Each of his crew was different, but they all knew how to navigate the social hierarchy here. During the first few days, things had been tense between everyone on his team; they were people from very different species and very different backgrounds; they couldn't help but be wary of each other, and sometimes even scared. Hell, Shepard didn't really like any of them back then. He'd believed the rumors about the quarians, about how they were thieves and liars. He feared having a Krogan mercenary onboard who used to get paid by the highest bidder; what could have stopped him from switching sides simply through a bank account transfer? Liara was the daughter of the enemy, and consequently, could have been a spy. Etc.

However, as time went on, each of them learned to cope and adapt. Even the ones he never expected to, who probably had life worse than him, like the quarian or krogan, had learned to be at ease here. They learned to trust one another, and on the battlefield, to trust one another with their lives. They learned to adapt, that's what made them people, because people think and change. Shepard? No, he was just an unthinking machine.

The mess was now silent. The cling of utensils had all but paused and no one talked. He could feel all their eyes on him, calling him a freak. "You should get some food, Shepard. It's no fun killing people on an empty stomach," Wrex offered. It's almost like they were waiting for him to say something, to grab some food, or take a seat, or hear out their fears about the mission, or listen to the stories of their past.

"Carry on, soldiers." He began to walk away from them. He could still feel their eyes trailing him, even as he disappeared around the corner and up the stairs. Shepard hung his head in shame.

* * *

Shepard stood at the command position on the top deck. Its elevated pedestal raised him above the galaxy map that lay before him. He was hunched over, resting his elbows on the railing as he stared at the infinity of stars in front of him. He could take solace in the fact that if he failed, or if any other catastrophe ever happened in the future, the stars would still be here, as beautiful as ever. The galaxy would be fine, but the people it housed was another question entirely. Stars didn't care if they died; people did; well, at least most people.

John had just met with Admiral Hackett in the comm room. He'd been forced to report his failures again, to report that he hadn't found anything and that Saren was still out there. Hackett wasn't happy about the progress, yet he didn't blame Shepard. The trail was dry, after all. However, it didn't make Shepard feel any better to know that he was failing. John's entire life had been a complete failure; he didn't have friends nor family, an education, and up until recently, a penny to his name. All Shepard did have was one thing: the satisfaction that came with completing his mission. It made him feel useful. He normally didn't care if he saved innocent lives (or when he took them); the satisfaction was derived from the fact that he did something, accomplished something of importance. Yet, it would seem he was falling into the general pattern of his life: failure. Shepard could not find Saren. He would always be too late to save anyone. He wasn't a soldier. He was a janitor; he was the cleanup crew; he mopped up whatever was left after the damage was already done. So, Hackett had given him another task. Recover a defunct probe with a nuke strapped to its back. Wonderful. That's all that Shepard was good for. The Normandy was headed there now.

John saw the look of disappointment on Hackett's face as he had signed off, as if he expected more from Shepard. It hurt him knowing that he was yet again a failure, he was a failure to the people who had bothered to take a chance and give him this job. Nevertheless, John had to admit that they had picked the wrong person. They had picked a brutal instrument of war, a killing machine. Shepard was beginning to realize his inadequacy. This job didn't need him; it needed a thinker, someone to connect all the clues in nuanced ways and follow the trail. It needed someone who understood the history and information about their enemy. It needed someone who was an expert at dealing with artificial intelligence. This person was not Shepard. The alliance would have been better off if they had nominated one of his crew members.

 _Stand the fuck up soldier. Stop feeling sorry for yourself because nobody cares._ The other half of his mind, the one that propelled him to pick up his body every morning and march through the day, was speaking now. _You have those people on your team, so stop whining like a little bitch._ It was true, those people were on his team. He just hated having to rely on them. Every time, someone would have to hack the computer for him, or fill in the information he needed to know, or protect him from dying, and the myriads of other tasks that helped him to complete his mission. Shepard knew they were supposed to be a team, but he hated having to place that much trust in other people.

He stood up straight and started to rub the bridge of his nose with two fingers as he closed his eyes. He exhaled forcefully through his nose. He was frustrated, and he didn't know what to do. That fact wasn't lost on the sparse occupants of the command deck, which currently was just him, Pressley, and Joker, who was nowhere near them.

His second in command was typing discreetly on his omnitool. What he was doing, John could not tell. He stood by his navigation terminal, which was what Pressley was supposed to be focusing on. Shepard shrugged; he didn't care. There was no reason to run his crew tight; they probably knew what they were doing better than he did anyway. However, he couldn't help but be curious. He tried peering at Pressley's omnitool without being obvious. Pressley chuckled to himself; he must have been texting someone, someone who made him happy.

But Pressley noticed. He quickly shut off his omnitool and returned to his duties. "My apologies, commander." He glued his eyes to the screen in front of him, the smile on his face replaced with a stern seriousness.

Shepard now felt guilty; he'd done it again; he'd intervened, intruded into someone's happiness and taken it away. "It's fine Pressley. It was my bad," he sighed.

"I was just talking with my son. It's been…awhile." Shepard nodded his head. He wanted to say he understood why Pressley had done what he'd done, but Shepard knew he would never understand. He would never know the burden, and as rumor would have it, the joy, of having a child.

"A son," Shepard mused, "I didn't know you had a kid."

"Well, he's all grown up now," Pressley corrected.

A small smile wavered on Shepard's face. "You must be proud." Proud, it was such an odd concept for him. No one would ever be proud of him. He wasn't even proud of himself. But Pressley, he had something to look forward to when he returned home, to give him a reason to fight. "Shouldn't you be with him." Shepard paused upon hearing the words out of his mouth. "Well, I mean wouldn't you want to serve back on Earth instead of the front lines… for his sake?" _Perfect, I'm going to be responsible for orphaning another kid. Except this time, I didn't kill the parents, I just led them to their deaths._

"I could," Pressley agreed. He knew he was getting old anyway. Shepard had exaggerated when he said front lines. There was no way in hell he would be able to keep up with Shepard. "But I belong here, on the Normandy."

Shepard gulped. The pride in Pressley's voice, the purpose in his words, he truly believed that his purpose was here. Shepard wanted to ask "why?", but he could already guess the answer. Pressley was here because he wanted to stop Saren and fight the reapers. Maybe he couldn't be as much help as he used to, but he was one of the best darn map readers in the alliance. If that was all he could do, then it was more than enough of a reason to stay here.

"Does it scare you… to know that the Reapers are out there, just waiting to kill us all?" _Does it scare you to know that you brought another person into this hellhole of existence, only to suffer in pain and die a sad death?_ It's what he wanted to ask, but he wouldn't dare.

"Of course it does. That's why I'm here, commander. That's why we're all here: to stop Saren and his geth army." Shepard was a terrible motivator. He usually got people to do things by being an utter asshole. But here, on the Normandy, there was no need to get lazy people working. For starters, Anderson had handpicked the crew all those months ago. Each and every person here was the best of the best. Yet, there was something else that motivated them all: the fear of extinction. Shepard didn't need to motivate them, the reapers did that job just fine.

"You say it like you know we're going to win, Pressley."

The navigator let out a sigh. He knew what he was getting into when this conversation had started. Leave it to the commander to knock hope down. "I have to believe we will, commander. For humanity, for my family, they're all counting on me. I can't fail them.

Shepard could only wish he had such a strong conviction. He was here only because he had nothing better to do. _No, no you have a reason too. You've seen the visions, Shepard. You know what is to come, what you're fighting against._ Even so, he didn't know why he bothered fighting at all. "How do you live with all that pressure? Because if you fail…" Shepard couldn't say the rest of his thought; he didn't want to give Pressley that mental image.

Pressley let out a remorseful laugh. "You probably know better than me, what it's like to live with all that pressure."

"Why? You're here on the Normandy, fighting the reapers too."

"Commander, I'm nothing more than an old, glorified map reader. I can do my part, but we both know I'm not going to be the one fighting Saren. It's going to be you. I want to believe that I'm doing something, but its really just you and your team. The entire galaxy is depending on us… you, to win." Pressley paused before continuing. "Everyone on this ship is depending on you to lead us to victory."

Shepard rested his elbows on the railing in front of him again. _They chose the wrong man to lead them._ He wanted to say it out loud, but he couldn't, for Pressley's sake. Let the man enjoy his ignorant bliss. Pressley was right, it was Shepard's burden. He didn't think he could save them, but at least for now, he could try and protect them from the truth. Let them die happily, thinking they did something. "We'll get there Pressley, don't worry." _You won't have to worry about dying and believing that our deaths were in vain._


	37. The monster is still there

"How'd this thing even get here?" Kaiden asked. His best guess was that it belonged to some terrorist organization, but in this line of work, the simplest answer was not often the correct one.

Shepard let out a short, cruel laugh. "They told me to say it was stolen by pirates."

"I'm guessing that's not what happened."

"Nope. According to Hackett, they strapped nukes to all their spy probes during the first contact war. He said they didn't want their equipment to be caught. Except, after the war ended, some probes were never recovered. The one we're after just started blinking back home again."

"Your disregard for alliance secrets is… understandable".

"Ya." But his "ya" had been sarcastic. Some things were best left buried, and even though they might one day rise up again to destroy you, at least you could make do with the time you had until then.

"Stop the Mako, the signal's close," Tali informed him. He gently applied the brakes and the Mako ground to a halt. Shepard put the vehicle in park.

"Alright, let's go." He'd only brought the techs so they could safely disarm the nuke. And himself, so he could supervise the mission, even though he was completely useless for this kind of thing.

John stood from his seat and crawled through the top hatch of the Mako. He jumped down, landing in the red soil. His head turned from left to right and back to left again as he searched for the probe. "Where is this thing?" he asked in frustration.

Tali and Kaiden joined him on the surface of the Mars-like planet. Their silence was immensely annoying. "Well?" he inquired again.

Tali brought her omnitool closer to her mask so she could make sure she was reading it clearly. "It's…it's saying it's underground. In that mineshaft, over there." She pointed towards the mountain and one small entrance that he'd neglected to catch.

"How the hell did it get underground?" Kaiden asked.

Shepard reached for his shotgun. Not holding it, he felt out of place. Now, he had a reason to clutch it like no tomorrow. This thing had been like a brother to him, more dependable than any person had ever been; it had been with him in his greatest moments, in his worst, and even when he was close to death. It never left him; now, he needed it again. "Someone moved it. Someone," he groaned, "is here."

* * *

The cavern was eerie. Moisture dripped off of the walls and pooled on the floor. He knew he was probably walking into a trap, but there was no other way to find this thing. As soon as the door to this mineshaft had opened, a pit had started to form in his stomach. The lights were still on, dull brown orbs haphazardly hung from the ceiling, wires running between them. He wasn't afraid of the scary shadows the lights would cast; no, he was afraid of what the lights meant: that somebody was here.

He'd long ago dropped the nonchalant façade he had when he'd landed on this planet; he'd forgotten his hatred of Hackett for giving him such a stupid mission. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, if only out of anticipation. Tali was behind him, directing him to turn left or right through the winding passageways of this cave. It probably would have been easier if she had taken the front and led the way, but he couldn't allow that. She was still new at this, and he would rather have her die for any reason other than his laziness.

Shepard was beginning to regret not bringing the whole team, but it was too late for that now. Unless it was an entire army, Shepard could probably take them; at least that's what he told himself.

He crouched so he could fit through the short passageway ahead of him. He passed through, crawling on his hands and knees. At its end, he exited through circular metal doors. He could only imagine the unbelievable pain he would feel if the doors had decided to close and cut him in half.

The room was a dead end. A lamp post stood in one corner of the room, holding up a light. In the other, he could see a long, rectangular shape; it was metallic; it must be the nuke they had been looking for.

"That's definitely it" quipped Tali.

"Get that thing and let's get the hell out of-"

A loud, thunderous roar shook the cavern. Dust rained down from the ceiling. For a second, he could have sworn they were going to be buried alive. It probably would have been a slow, painful death given that he was protected in his armor, and he most likely would have died out of suffocation. So he let out a sigh of relief when the dust settled and the trembling of the ground stopped.

They needed to get out of here, as they were in danger. Shepard turned to face the way that they had entered, only to find it locked. "Shit."

A pillar of orange light now illuminated the center of the room. Initially, he couldn't tell what it was, but the light gradually formed into the figure of a man. This was a projection.

"Shepard," snarled the image of the man that stood before him. The hate in his voice was immeasurable. "At last."

"I don't believe I know you," Shepard replied, a sarcastic tone on his voice. He could now put a face to the enemy.

"My name is Elanos Haliat, although you probably don't know it."

"I don't fucking know you, nor do I care about you. What the fuck do you want?" Shepard pointed his shotgun at the aberration, even though it was useless to do so. Instincts were hard to shake off.

"Who do you think runs the Terminus Clans, Shepard? Hm? Thousands of pirates, slavers, criminals of every stripe?"

"Probably an asshole like you."

Haliat's face contorted into an angry mask; Shepard was adding insult onto injury, even though he did not yet know it. "It's the one who creates the most profit, loots the most ships, pillages and sacks the most colonies."

Shepard started to chuckle humorously, his shoulders rising and falling. "And what am I supposed to do with this information. Come out there and kill you? Because that's what I do to people like you." Kaiden and Tali could only watch the interaction between the commander and this mysterious figure. It was clear that they hated each other; this confrontation would end violently, there was no question about it.

"I'm only here to give you something that was coming to you for a long, long time." Hatred dripped off his words.

Yet Shepard was genuinely confused. He didn't know this man, nor did he know what he did to make him this upset. However, Shepard couldn't deny that Haliat's grudge was probably real. Just because Shepard didn't remember didn't mean that Shepard hadn't done something to piss this man off. It was more likely than not; he had hurt so many people over the years. "Just spit it out, already."

"A decade ago, I was the man who ran the Terminus clans. I had plotted the largest and most ambitious plan yet. All that was taken away from me when I failed; I was blamed, all because of you."

Shepard felt something in his chest. Emotions came back to him, memories of that day, the faces of the people who he was supposed to protect but failed, innocent people dying back when it still affected him. "It was…you. You attacked the colony…Elysium," he whispered.

One man had saved Elysium: John Shepard. Kaiden didn't know the commander back then, but he could remember seeing him in the newscasts after the attack. Kaiden saw how they held him up as a hero and gave him medals, made him smile for the cameras; except if you looked closely enough, you could tell the smile was fake. And when they tried to make him speak during interviews, he was a man of few words because he was lost and didn't know what to think. They paraded a broken man around, telling him he was the epitome of glory, even though he was dying inside. To feel so shitty when people were telling you that you should feel so good? It would drive a man to the brink of madness. Now Kaiden got to see the end results, what happened to the man after the universe had destroyed him, taking everything and leaving him empty inside.

"Indeed I did, and it was all in vain because of you, Shepard."

"You came here to admit… to _The Butcher of Torfan_ ," he said, choosing that name over what they had called him in the news, _The Savior of Elysium, "_ that you're responsible for the attack on Elysium." Shepard started to roar in laughter, much to the silent horror of his teammates. But John couldn't help it, he found the situation so peculiar and odd. "I'm going to kill you, now."

Haliat shook his head in disgust. He and the commander, they were very different people. They might often have similar ends, which was killing, but the means were very different. Haliat was a planner; he preferred to predict his enemy's every move, counter them, and defeat them, whether in space, the battlefield, or in the slums. Shepard was very different; he was emotional and impulsive, the remnants of a child, which ironically enough was something he never really was. He lacked creativity, originality, and nuance; he was like the barbarians of old who would rush into battle with bloodlust.

Shepard had fallen into his trap, just as he had planned; it was a simple matter of pushing a button now. But what fun was defeating your enemy without toying with them? "Your words ring hollow commander. You're trapped down here, and you will die down here as well. I regret to say that we will not be meeting in person."

"I have one of the most advanced alliance warships in orbit, staffed with some of the most skilled soldiers in the galaxy. My crew will come for us," Shepard replied defiantly. He wasn't scared about his life so much as he was scared for the lives of the people with him. They didn't deserve to die, and they definitely didn't deserve to die because of his past catching up with him.

"This cave is laced with heavy metals. Your suits radios won't reach them, and even when they realize you haven't made contact, they won't know the first place to look for you." A smug grin spread across Haliat's face.

Shepard tried to call the Normandy on his comms, but to no result. "Normandy, do you copy? Normandy?"

"An alliance warship will make a fine prize as well, I suppose. Goodbye, commander. It's been nice talking to you." The projection winked out.

"If he thinks a fucking cave is going to kill me, he has another thing coming. Get those doors open, now!" Shepard ordered.

A low whine started to reverberate around the room. At first, he couldn't tell where it came from, but as it got louder, the source became abundantly clear. "Oh god…" Shepard mumbled. He wanted to scream it, but the gravity of the situation was too immense: he was going to be taken out by a fucking nuclear bomb. In a way, it was fitting to go out in such a grand explosion.

He stood there like a statue, inept and helpless to resolve the situation before him. Kaiden and Tali had already jumped into action to try and disarm the nuke, and a small part of Shepard admired the duo, both for their skills and their optimism, for these were things he didn't have. Yet he couldn't help but feel consumed by guilt. They would die in a tremendous explosion; none of them would feel pain, it would be instantaneous; but two people, two good people who didn't have to be here for any other reason than because he had asked them to, would die. He didn't speak to them often, but from what he could observe, he knew that they shouldn't go out like this. Except Shepard couldn't do anything; he didn't know the first thing about unlocking a door, let alone disarming a nuke. He could not help them, even though he wanted to. He yet again found himself helpless and having to depend upon others, like a toddler.

* * *

Haliat watched the seconds tick down on his omnitool. _30, 29, 28, 27, 26…_ With each second that passed, the anticipation rose. He had waited so long for this moment, waited so long to ruin the man that had ruined him.

He had worked hard to ascend the ranks of the Terminus clans. His background was not that different from Shepard; he grew up poor and without an education. He used to be afraid. Yet he fought and struggled and clawed his way up the ranks until he wasn't afraid anymore; people became afraid of him, afraid of the power he had. He was destined for glory and power. But in one fell swoop, it had been robbed from him; he was blamed for the failure; he had been kicked out and cast aside.

_25, 24, 23, 22, 21…_

He remembered taking the fall for the failure and watching Shepard and other soldiers being praised. Praised for what, protecting a bunch of lifeless drones who did the bidding of what their government told them to do?

_20, 19, 18, 17, 16…_

After the Blitz, Haliat yet again found himself with nothing to his name, reviled by those around him for his mistakes. He'd spent all the years afterward rebuilding himself, trying to reclaim the glory and prestige from before Elysium. A decade later, he had gotten some of his old life back, but he was still a shadow of his former self.

 _15, 14, 13, 12, 11…_ And while Haliat struggled to regain what he had lost, Shepard had been patted on the back. He was now a spectre, riding high on an alliance warship of his own command. What better way to regain his name than to kill humanity's first and only spectre, their 'hero.'

 _10, 9, 8, 7, 6…_ It didn't matter that Shepard had brought some extra soldiers with him; it wouldn't change his fate. Shepard would die here, by his hand. The others would just be collateral damage; it would serve as their punishment for deciding to aid Shepard. Besides, one of them was a quarian. The mere thought of having such a disgusting animal on his ship made him cringe. He internally questioned why Shepard had bothered to let her on his ship, but it soon wouldn't matter.

 _5, 4, 3, 2, 1…_ A wicked grin spread across his face as the final seconds on the timer ticked away. His men had told him that they should just leave already. They had asked what the point was of waiting for the bomb to go off. He waited because it was important to see a task through, to the end. What kind of man would he be if he walked away before he faced the results of his works? He was no coward. Besides, the nuke was far enough underground that the blast wouldn't affect them, except maybe a small tremor. It was stupid of the alliance to have sent out nuclear weapons with these probes when a simple bomb would have sufficed, but at least they weren't crazy enough to put really big nukes.

0\. The timer reached the final number. Zero was a funny number. It was something that stood for nothing. But it was fitting for Commander Shepard, who was about to be blown to smithereens. All that would be left was the memory of the man. He waited with anticipation, waited for the ground beneath his feet to start shaking and trembling. He waited and waited and waited. Nothing happened. "Which one of you was in charge of setting up that nuke!" he roared.

A meek, young engineer step forward. Haliat berated him, demanding a reason for why the nuke had not detonated. The engineer tried to explain that the trigger mechanism was relatively simple, that it should have gone off, that the nuke not blowing up was not his fault. Haliat waived him off, told him to go back and do whatever he was doing. The engineer turned around, headed back to his place leaning beside the Mako they had stolen.

He ordered the rest of his men to get into their vehicles. They would go to the site and finish off Shepard in person.

* * *

They arrived at the site of the mine. The mountain that stood over it remained, a visual confirmation of what most had already known: the nuke had not gone off. The mercenaries and ex-soldiers gripped their weapons with fear. The plan was to kill Shepard with a nuke while they were far away from danger; that was what Haliat had told them when he'd asked for some men to follow him, and the only reason any had bothered to join him at all. They all had known who their target would be: Council Spectre and Alliance Commander John Shepard. Except Haliat's plan had failed. Now they would have to face down the Commander on the battlefield.

They had heard the stories and rumors about this man; they had heard that he wasn't a man but a devil. The batarian's they would sometimes work with spoke of Shepard; they had a special name for him: Butcher. When asked why he was called that, they were told stories that sounded too impossible to believe. He would turn the tide of battles. He would survive the bloodiest of missions. He would kill pirates and the innocent alike, which was a testament to the fact that he was no normal soldier. They weren't sure which stories were hyperbole or fact. And as if it wasn't bad enough already, John Shepard had been given a position as a council spectre. This was the man they were about to fight, and not a single person in Haliat's company could say they did not have reservations about this mission.

Some of the warriors reverted to their nervous habits: sweat-filled brows, the tapping of feet, the rubbing of hands and forearms, paleness, and the rapid beating of hearts, among others. These were grown adults who'd served as soldiers, mercenaries, and assassins for years, and sometimes, even decades. They had the disturbing feeling that they were about to die for someone else's personal vendetta.

The humans were particularly afraid. This was supposed to be their guy, the one who would be watching out for humans in the galaxy. They had tried to kill him. Now, he would surely try to kill them if he wasn't dead already.

They exited their vehicles, both the troop carrier they had arrived with and the Mako they had stolen. All was silent except for the howling of the wind. They might be nervous, but they were still skilled fighters. They began to fan out in groups of two or three, looking for fresh tracks in the ground or scanning the hillside.

Seeing nothing, they decided that Shepard could only be in one place: inside the cave. Haliat ordered half his men to search the underground labyrinth.

"Boss, that's a bad idea."

"Are you crazy? He could be in there."

"It's a trap." How the roles had reversed on them.

"There are only three of them, three!" Haliat was disgusted with his crew. He'd never seen so much hesitation, so much weakness and fear, and most of it from the humans, his own kind.

Yet some of the handful of Krogan seamed all too happy to go into the cave. It was their moment to prove their glory and kill the legend. Yet they could never realize that in their quest to look the strongest, their dying race had been turned into cannon-fodder. Some of the turians, and a single human, followed the krogan.

* * *

The entrance to the mineshaft was not lit with the orange glow of light that had been there before. Now, its black entrance was like a void that contrasted against the red rock that surrounded it. They turned on their flashlights, steeled their nerves, and raised their weapons in front of them. They entered the cave.

They never thought that they would be back here. This place should have been obliterated. Yet here they were.

"Have you found him yet?" It was Haliat, impatiently asking for a status update.

"Nothing. The lights have been turned off, though. I don't think this is a good idea." They so badly wanted to mutiny but there would be no backing out. They had reputations too, reputations that they needed to keep if they wanted to work.

"You're the one who wants him. Why don't you come down here?"

"Search the whole damn thing," Haliat replied. He wouldn't even dignify that question. If these men had done their jobs properly, there wouldn't have been a problem.

Once the entire team was inside the mineshaft, they began to explore its dark rooms and passages. This place was a maze, and their fears were only comforted by the fact that there were so many of them.

* * *

Haliat and the remaining half of his team remained on the surface, ready for a fight, waiting for their target. A glint in the distance caught his eye; he turned his head to examine what his eyes had seen. Three tiny specs, up on the mountain. Haliat raised his rifle, using his scope to take a closer look. The specks, under magnification, were no longer specs. They were three bodies; a standard armored helmet, a purple mask, and a red-black helmet. _Shit._

"Shepard's not in the cave, get the hell out of there," he yelled into the comms. Static was his reply. They were probably so deep underground now that the heavy metals he had once ago boasted about were now a hindrance. _Forget them._ "He's on the mountain, Shepard's on top of the god damn mountain!"

* * *

They had searched every room, every nook and cranny, and under every rock. They were not here.

One of the troops tried to radio Haliat and provide him with an update. "Boss, this place is clear." He waited and waited and waited for a reply, except none came. So he tried again. "Haliat? Do you read me, Shepard's not down here." _If he's not down here, then he could only be up there._

The comms still silent, he gave up with a shrug. He turned to the mercenaries with him. "He is not fucking responding. I'd say let's get the hell out of here."

The others agreed and began to file out of the last room they had searched.

The sound of screeching metal echoed throughout the cave. They all jumped, rifles raised, pointing their flashlights every which way, trying to find what had made such a sound. They renewed their efforts to leave and started running, tripping up on rocks along the way. They reached a dead-end, although it shouldn't have been. This corner of the room had led to a passageway which, ten minutes ago, had brought them here. Their frenzied minds slowly started to piece together why that passageway no longer existed. The sound of screeching metal came from one of the circular doors in this cave. The door was blocking their escape because it had closed.

"We need a tech!"

* * *

Haliat pointed at the mountain, trying to get his men to fire. Haliat gave up trying to show them and started firing with his rifle. Yet the gun he carried was ill-suited for the range they were at. Most of the rounds never hit their mark, and the few that did harmlessly bounced off their shields.

Some of his men were finally able to locate Shepard's team on the hill. A sniper stepped forward and got on one knee, preparing to fire her massive gun. She breathed deeply and looked through the scope of her rifle, aiming her weapon at the target.

Snipers, despite the craziness of the battle around them, were supposed to stay calm; the smallest movement, even a heartbeat, could throw off their shot. This fact made it very difficult for her to line up the shot because she was basically staring down the magnified barrel of an opposing enemy sniper. Panic gripped her, the fear of death overwhelming; she knew that if she didn't fire first or her shot missed, she could die. She tried to steady her hands as best she could as she squeezed down on the trigger. The weapon rocked against her shoulder, and a deafening crack echoed around them.

She looked through her scope again to see if she had succeeded or failed. The man she had fired at, who she assumed was the commander, was still there. His weapon was too. She pressed down on the trigger again, but her weapon yelped back at her, still too hot to fire.

The last thing she saw was the opposing sniper. His weapon was not very different from hers: a scope, a long barrel, and a trigger. The recipe of what made a good sniper rifle was pretty much constant. Half of the commander's armored helm was blocked by the scope he looked through, but enough remained for her to make out the image painted on it: a skull. He stood up on the mountain, and his body language was almost saying 'now my turn.'

She knew perfectly well who his target would be: the only person who could threaten him at this range: her. She jumped to the side, but she was too late. The heavy round, having been fired from an elevated angle, hit her in the chest and smashed her body to the ground. Her screams were cut short as blood filled her lungs.

The other mercs were horrified. There were now nine of them; the others were still underground and couldn't be reached. They ducked for cover behind anything they could find: rocks and boulders, the vehicle they had brought, even each other. In the frenzy, another one of them was nailed in the thigh.

"Kill him already!" Haliat screamed, even as he too ran for cover. His options were being taken away by the second. He called the frigate that had brought him here. It was an old, rusting alliance warship from long ago. "I need air support, immediately! Bring the gunships." He knew it was a mistake. Shepard was no longer in the cave; he could easily call the Normandy and shoot his ship down.

One of his mercs popped up from behind cover, peppering the hillside with rounds. His head was blown off a second later. The body stood there, leaning against the rock for a second or two as electrical impulses still fired. It then fell to the ground, racked with spasms. Now there were seven.

Haliat didn't have a choice. He could try to fight Shepard and probably die, or he could get rid of Shepard now and worry about the Normandy later. In both cases, he would most likely die, but the latter gave him more time to think, and hopefully, for new possibilities of escape to arise.

He sheltered with two other mercs behind the Mako they had stolen. Its thick armor plates would protect them for now. Haliat felt damp with sweat. He hated this feeling of not being in control.

To his right, one of his men, a turian by the shape of his armor, got the bright idea to stand up from his crouched position. "Get the fuck down. What are you doing?"

The turian didn't even bother to face Haliat. "Getting us the fuck out of this mess. You fucked up, again." The turian began to climb up the side of the Mako.

Haliat put two and two together. The turian was trying to use the main gun of the Mako, but Haliat knew he would never get inside. He would be dead before he even had a chance. The turian reached the top of the vehicle and grasped the hatch, tossing it open.

Haliat watched from behind the Mako, patiently waiting. He knew what would happen. He felt an odd sense of pride as the turian's body came tumbling back down, spraying dark-blue blood all over him. However, he also felt a sense of dread. He was down another soldier.

No one tried anything else. To move meant to expose oneself, and to expose oneself meant death. Shepard would no doubt be descending the side of the mountain, descending towards them. Haliat wondered why Shepard hadn't killed him when he had the chance, when Haliat was running for cover. He'd instead opted to kill others. Why? Why not just kill him then?

A deep rumbling passed them overhead. Haliat looked up to see his ship zooming through the sky. It had just broken through the clouds, running towards them. Yet as it got closer and closer, the ship wasn't slowing down, it was speeding up. He radioed in; "what the hell are you doing? You're going to overshoot us?"

His comm was quiet for a few seconds before any response came through. When it did, he could hear heavy breathing, from the captain of course, and shouting in the background. "It came out of nowhere. We're not going to be able to help you! You're on your own." Before Haliat had time to respond, the channel disconnected. _Bastard._

Another form broke through the clouds. It was sleek and moving at a blistering speed. He tried reaching the frigate again, desperate, almost pleading over the radio. "Let the gunships out!" He needed those if he had any hope of killing Shepard. He wouldn't get them if the ship they were carried on was shot down. He hated himself; he was failing again, his plan having been ruined and everything he had amassed once more being taken away from him. "You have a hostile on your tail." Haliat got no response back.

The two ships, high in the sky, chased each other off into the distance. Then, he watched _The Normandy_ swoop down like a hawk from above, firing blue bolts at his ship, striking it several times. The ship slowed down and lurched heavily to one side. Even from here, he could see the massive plumes of smoke and fire billowing from its hull. It nosedived into the ground, and a massive fireball went up into the air. The other mercs on the ground stared straight at him. He was their leader, he was supposed to think of something so they all wouldn't die, but he was fresh out of ideas. These were all hardened warriors, but every single one of them was demoralized from watching their only means of rescue explode. And let's not forget the fact that dozens of souls had just winked out of existence in one fell swoop. There would be no hope, no survival, for any of them. They would be forced to watch themselves be cut down.

"I KNOW YOU'RE HERE HALIAT!" a voice boomed. It reminded Haliat of the man he'd heard on the news all those years ago. Yet in a way, it was different. It was different from the man he had spoken to earlier today too. Shepard must have been very close to the bottom of the mountain, maybe already on the base. The time of reckoning was upon them.

A boulder where a handful of his men were hiding behind was suddenly tossed into the air. This was an impressive feat given its size, yet Haliat doubted Shepard had done this tactically. Those who had been seeking shelter behind it scrambled to get away before it would crush them on its return trip to the ground. Haliat watched three of his men being shot in the back as they tried to get away, taken down by several controlled bursts of assault rifle fire. Four remained.

"Where are you Haliat?! You wanted to face me, well here I am!"

Another biotic blast sent a rock flying backward through the air, striking the ground with a loud crash and kicking sand up into the sky. This time, no one was behind it, but it would only be a matter of time. Haliat looked at the body of the turian that had tried to get into the Mako. That would be him in a matter of minutes, not unless he could miraculously kill Shepard.

It was only at this moment that he realized something: for all the things Shepard and he had 'done' to each other, they had never actually fought face to face. He realized how much of a coward he was being, cowering behind a Mako with his arms tucked close to his chest clutching his rifle. That's how he could tell who the real man was here. No, no that judgment wasn't fair. Haliat was a man, he was just dealing with something else entirely. He was dealing with a person who defied logic and probability, a person who lived when he should have died; he was dealing with a person who didn't possess reason and humanity, and that comment was coming from him, a fucking pirate.

"Are you seriously hiding Haliat?" The commander started laughing, and it nearly made Haliat shit is pants. What he was hearing… it belonged to someone who was psychotic and unhinged. He'd met a lot of interesting and soulless characters over his life, but this was something different. This was a soldier who enjoyed killing, it was such a joke to him that he was laughing. "You wanted to blow me up with a nuke, but you can't bother to face me?"

Another laugh howled over the red sands. "Did your balls drop off that quickly? I know you're hiding behind MY Mako." Haliat's blood ran cold. It was no longer a matter of probability of where he could have been hiding. Shepard knew with a reptilian certainty.

The mercenary that squatted next to Haliat looked up at him. Haliat didn't need to see his face to know the fear he was feeling because he was feeling it too. _If I only let it go. What did I even have to gain from this?_

Shepard blasted another boulder into the air, sending it flying over the Mako. If the commander could toss boulders around like toys, he could probably do the same to the Mako. Again, he had to wonder why the commander didn't just crush him with the vehicle and get it over with.

The last group of his mercenaries, a trio, was hiding in a ditch. He could see them from here. They were straining their necks to try and look over the dirt in front of them. They glanced at Haliat, clutching their assault rifles and shotguns. One of the turian's had his helmet off. The intensity in his gaze and the way his mandibles spread said it all; they were mad at him; they would blame him for dying.

The mercenaries jumped up from their ditch and started to fire at Shepard in a last-ditch effort, although Haliat couldn't see where the commander was exactly. It only lasted two seconds before their weapons stopped firing and started screaming back at their yielders. They were overheated, except that was impossible. The weapons weren't overheated, they just believed that they were. A blue haze formed around the mercenaries, picking them up in the air and preventing them from going back into cover. His men screamed, an ear-piercing cry of terror that should not have come from grown men; it scared Haliat. Abruptly, they were tossed into the air like ragdolls. They reached their peak in the air and began falling back down towards the ground, screaming all the way. Short, controlled, and lethal bursts of fire from a rifle shot each one of them before they hit the ground, spraying blood over the area behind them before they landed with a sickening thud. Shepard had killed these men like he was at a gun show competition, tossing empty soda cans into the air and shooting them as they fell to the ground, except the soda cans were living and breathing people. Shepard was hunting them down like a gun sportsman.

"So that's what you're going to do, let your men die for you while you get away alive? I expected more from someone who boasted his ass off less than half an hour ago." Haliat, who had been leaning against the Mako, felt the vehicle move behind him. It started to groan as its own weight was being taken off its transmission. Haliat turned around, watching the five-ton Mako slowly being raised into the air, inch by inch. He saw three pairs of booted legs. With each inch that the Mako rose, he could see more and more of the people hidden by the armored tank. Eventually, the Mako was high enough so he could see all three individuals in their entirety; these were the same three people that should have been blown apart into their individual, constituent atoms. They were alive.

Haliat pointed his assault rifle at the three of them but held back from firing. There would be no point. The human next to him started to run away at breakneck speed. Haliat watched as Shepard raised both hands into the air, straining to raise the Mako even higher. The commander then took a step forward, pushing his arms forward as well. The Mako lagged behind the commander's movements by a second, but not even the tank was able to resist Shepard's will. It was tossed backward, after the running soldier. It landed at an angle, crushing the man instantly, before coming to a rest on its side, slightly buried in the dirt.

Haliat slowly retreated, step by step, his rifle still raised, switching his aim between the three enemy soldiers. Only the commander pointed his weapon at Haliat. The quarian and the human soldier that accompanied him had their pistols out and ready, but these weapons were pointed towards the ground. They knew this fight was over.

Haliat knew he would die, but it didn't mean he wasn't angry and full of despair. Haliat had watched Shepard's entire display of gaudy violence and there was no denying that Shepard was an expert at what he did. Yet Haliat didn't believe Shepard had been the one to disarm the nuke. The commander only knew death, not circuitry. "You should have died down there, Shepard. Originally, I thought I had messed up, but I don't think I did. You were saved by a fucking suit-rat! How does that make you feel?"

The commander threw his rifle to the ground and started to take long, powerful steps forward. Those steps gradually turned into leaping strides as Shepard closed the distance between himself and Haliat. A blue wall of force formed in front of him as he charged.

Haliat fired his weapon at the commander. The bullets bounced off the blue aura, as he had expected, but Haliat had to try. Haliat was still firing bullets at full auto when the commander reached him. He felt like he'd been hit by a freight train as the commander's body slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. Shepard then jumped high into the air with Haliat, retaining his forward velocity. He held the pirate at arm's length as they soared through the air. Haliat tried to escape from the commander, but it was as if his punches and strikes were feathers. They began to fall towards the ground, and Shepard drew his right arm back, folding it close to the side of his body, elbow jutted out.

Haliat landed on his back. He could feel his ribcage collapse in on itself and his pelvis shatter from the force of the impact. At the moment they hit the ground, Shepard landed the elbow of his right arm on Haliat's helmet, cracking it inwards. The commander slowly rose to his feet and took a step back. Haliat screamed in pain and instantly regretted it as his lungs expanded and contracted against his destroyed ribcage. His breathing became shallow, yet even that still hurt like hell. Now, his only weapon was his fists and a small sidearm strapped to his thigh.

Shepard didn't move. He just tilted his head to the side and watched Haliat lying in the dirt, withering in agony. In the back of the pirate's mind, he was getting the disturbing feeling that Shepard was enjoying watching his pain.

Haliat's eyes were wide with shock as he looked back at the commander. _This man should be dead! It isn't fair!_

Shepard sighed. The aggressive posture of his stance slowly faded until he was standing with his feet together and arms by his side. He hung his head as he looked down at Haliat's crippled form. "Why'd you make me do this?" he asked, almost childishly.

Haliat wanted to scream the answer back. Haliat knew that Shepard knew the answer, so Shepard was just taunting him at this point. However, the tone of his voice was almost sincere, as if he didn't know. "Elys…ium," he gasped.

Shepard nodded his head solemnly. He let out a short, sad laugh before sitting down next to Haliat, legs crossed. "You're mad at me for saving the colony. I can understand." He was silent for a moment before continuing. "You didn't fail, I did. Tens of thousands of people died that day."

Haliat's mouth was opening and closing like a fish in water. He wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what. How is it possible for someone to be so angry one minute and so calm the next? "You…you ruined me. I wanted to…reclaim my name." For Haliat it was never about the good or the bad you brought into the world; it was the image you carried. That's where real power was derived from: people fearing your reputation.

"So do I, but we can't always get what we want, can we?" What Shepard meant, he didn't know. Yet, Shepard telling him in person that he had again failed was like a slap in the face. All he knew was that he wanted to reach his arms out and strangle this man to death in a last act of defiance, a last hurrah.

Haliat could see two figures slowly approach behind Shepard. It was his crew. The human was carrying an extra assault rifle, the one Shepard had tossed to the ground before charging him.

He had planned it to perfection, and his enemies had fallen into the trap exactly as he had expected them to. Except none of it worked, again. He wanted to understand why, even in his last moments. What made this man tick, what made him live through what would have killed so many others? It didn't make any sense, no matter what angle he looked at it from. He shifted his gaze from Shepard to the people who had accompanied him. "Were they the ones to…disarm the nuke?" He just had to know if his plan would have worked if Shepard was alone.

"Yes, yes they did." Haliat could hear a hint of pride in his voice. "You never failed. I can just sometimes be very, very lucky. I should have died long ago."

 _What the hell is this, a therapy session? Just kill me!_ Haliat could only wonder why the commander was divulging his thoughts to a dying man. "What's going to…happen now? Kill me?" He didn't think he would leave alive. It was an impossible outcome. But for a man as egotistical as himself, he had to know how it would all end.

Shepard sighed again, like he was having trouble saying what he was going to say. "You'll die." Shepard then leaned closer to Haliat's ear as if he was telling him a secret. He wanted to squirm away, but it hurt too much. "Your men trapped in the caves below will die too, although I haven't decided how yet."

These answers were what he expected, and he knew that Shepard's latter statement alluded to the nuke he had brought here. He could only hope that Shepard would really detonate the nuke before leaving. Otherwise, these men would be tortured and driven mad by the darkness he had sent them into. A quick death was preferable to a long, torturous one.

This thought, of having to plead for a certain kind of death, enraged him. He shouldn't have to plead or beg for anything. He wasn't a dog, he was Elanus Haliat, the smartest and most ambitious leader of the Terminus Clans there ever was. He had planned and carried out raids larger than any had seen before. _Except I failed every time._ He was dying, and he was being forced to confront the fact that he had accomplished nothing in his life. He was going to die here, in the middle of nowhere. He for once just wanted something to go his way. And as far as he could tell, it was Shepard's fault that it wasn't; this man had first ruined him, and now he was going to kill him.

Shepard got up and stood next to Haliat. "If you want to know why you failed, it's rather simple." He spoke in slow, deliberate words. He was taunting, but at the same time, consoling the dying pirate. "When I was a kid, I used to be hungry all the time. My friends had taught me how to catch rats. When you're desperate, anything's a delicacy. You know it's amazing what you can do with a piece of wood, a spring coil, and some rubber bands." He paused.

"What?" Haliat breathed. What the hell was this man talking about? He was about to murder him, and he's giving stories from his childhood.

Shepard continued, undisturbed by Haliat's question. "Sometimes, I would sit across the room and watch the trap, huddled in the corner. You know what I saw?"

Kaiden tried to interrupt, slowly getting freaked out. "Shepard, what the hell? Call the Normandy, let's get the nuke, and let's get out of here." But the commander didn't even bother to turn his head. He didn't care what anyone thought.

"If you left the rat enough time, some were able to escape. Would you like to know why?" He continued to speak, not bothering to wait back for an answer. "Some were lucky, and somehow managed to squeeze their way out of the trap. Yet most weren't, so they died. They died and got eaten. One day, while I sat in my corner, I saw a rat scuttle towards the trap. It stepped into the trap and got caught. Whenever that would happen, I would always be filled with glee. You got to see the rat jumping around, lunging every-which-way, trying to escape. This rat was no different, and it eventually gave up and tired out. Do you want to know what it did instead?"

"Shepard…"

"Shut up," the commander snarled back. He wanted to finish this story, to tell Haliat why he had failed. He wanted this man to be tormented before he died.

"It turned around and started to chew its own foot off. I knew I should have gotten up and killed it before it got away, but I was so…entranced by it, by its attempts to escape. I'd never seen one do that before. The thing didn't even squeal, it just kept chewing for minutes." His voice turned hoarse. "It kept chewing until its foot came off. And then it scuttled away as if nothing had happened, leaving a bloody trail. I was a little kid but I found it so cool."

"You're a freak!" Haliat tried to scream through pained breaths. "Get the fuck away from me!" He tried to drag his broken body away from the commander, but he could only move inch by inch.

"Most die. Some escape through luck. But there were others, who if given enough time, who's will to live was so strong that they would do anything to survive." He tilted his head to the side almost as if he was contemplating something important. "Now I see the funny side. I think this time you were just unlucky." Shepard drew his pistol and held it in his right hand, pointing it towards the ground.

No, Haliat refused to go out like this, to die a beggar or at the whim of another person. His hand slowly crept to the sidearm on his leg. He imperceptibly drew his gun out of its holster. All he needed was one swift motion, one decisive shot at one unarmored spot on the commander. Shepard would never notice, the man was barely in this universe at the moment. He was clearly in another; the way he stared ahead, away from Haliat, as if he were unimportant, to not even dignify his death…

"Shepard!" Kaiden yelled.

"I said shut up!"

Haliat was shot twice by Kaiden before he could even move his arm. He collapsed back into the dirt. "Fuck you!" he screamed through gurgled breaths. "Fuck you and your alliance. Fuck you and your crew."

He watched Shepard slowly turn towards him through red-tinged vision, undisturbed by what had just happened. The commander walked around his dying body and wrestled Haliat's gun out of his hand. He tried to resist, but it was useless; his strength was leaving his body by the second. "You're a disgrace to your race, Shepard!"

The commander's back straightened. He turned to point the weapon at Haliat in a swift, abrupt manner, almost as if he was a robot. Any semblance of the men who he had just been speaking to was gone. In his place, the man who'd killed his entire squad with deadly precision spoke. "If you wanted to die faster, all you could have done was ask."

"Go… to hell!" he screamed through gritted teeth, straining against death itself to speak three final words.

"How 'bout I meet you there?" Shepard offered.

_Bang, bang, bang, bang._

* * *

"Commander, good to hear from you again. I take it you found the nuke?"

"Yes, sir. I took care of it."

Hackett paused, taking the time to deliberately choose his words. "What do you mean by 'taken care of'? Did you secure the nuke or not?" He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that told him that Shepard went way past the scope of the mission.

"The mission parameters changed. It was captured by enemy hostiles. However, the nuke won't be a problem."

"I'm having a hard time believing you engaged enemy hostiles in the middle of nowhere, Shepard. And the alliance won't take it lightly that you lost control of a nuclear weapon."

"Did you ever wonder who was behind the Skyllian Blitz?" Shepard asked cryptically.

"How does this have anything to do with-"

"I found him. It was Elanos Haliat. He was the one behind the Blitz, and he was the one responsible for activating that probe's signal. It was never a coincidence, admiral. You sent me into a trap, sir" he replied brazenly. "He tried to kill me with that thing, said it was revenge for what I did to him, for stopping the Blitz."

Hackett nodded along slowly. This was big news. The alliance had never found the mastermind behind the attack on Elysium. To have some closure and the knowledge that the menace who orchestrated it was no longer alive was a relief. "Well, at least you got out. I take it no one else except your team and Haliat were at the nuke. If anyone was hurt in that explosion… we could get into serious trouble commander."

"No one else. I blew it up before I left the planet, sir. Just a bunch of pirates in a cave."

Hackett crossed his arms. All this news was a lot to take in. Old enemies returning out of the blue, alliance secrets on the verge of being exposed to the galaxy, the threat of Saren and his geth armies, life at the moment sucked. "Do you have any leads on Saren yet?"

Shepard gulped, his Adam's apple visibly moving. "Nothing, sir."

"In that case, we have a colony that's dropped out of radio contact for a couple of days now. Could be trouble over there, and I'd appreciate it if you can sort it out. The place is called Feros, in the Attican Beta cluster."

"If I had to bet, sounds like another Cerberus experiment to me," he spat. "I'll head over there immediately, sir." He knew what they had done last time with the Thresher Maws on Akuze. He would not make the same mistake twice.

"And commander, try not to die. I have more than enough clearance to see the recent string of serious injuries on your medical record."

"Sorry sir, I guess I'll have to wait 'till Christmas for my wish, then."

"The galaxy is counting on you, commander." It was only ever so rarely that you found a soldier that was truly willing and ready to die. And they only had one soldier that he knew of that kind of wanted to die and didn't fear death. It had its positives and negatives, yet he preferred Shepard stay alive, both out of the importance of the mission and Hackett's belief that life was something important that should be cherished.

"Hackett out."

* * *

The signal cut off. Now it was just Shepard, standing alone in the comm room of the Normandy. "They chose the wrong man to count on," he whispered to himself. He didn't want that guilt right now but he wouldn't lie to himself. He didn't honestly believe he could defeat Saren. Today only seemed to reinforce that.

If this was a game of chess, Shepard would have lost long ago. He'd so easily walked into a trap today, and almost gotten himself and two others killed. Shepard did prevail in the end, but his problem was that Haliat was a nobody. Saren, however, was anything but a nobody. Sooner or later, Shepard knew that he would be outsmarted by that turian.

His life at the moment was sobering. He knew he was only alive over either an accident or Haliat's ego. For some stupid reason, they'd put a 30-second timer on the nuke instead of blowing it up immediately. That, and the fact that he had two techs with him, was the only reason he was alive. Shepard doubted Saren would make such a mistake as Haliat had done.

Something else scared him too. It was a fact he implicitly knew and lived, although never thought of: people can hold grudges for a very long time. Haliat had waited ten years for his revenge. How many others were out there, plotting revenge against him for the things he had done right, and more concerningly, the things he had done wrong? Like Haliat, he knew what it was like to have a grudge and hide it inside yourself until it festered. It was impossible to let it go; you had made yourself a silent promise and staked your meaning to exist on the completion of your revenge. He and Haliat were not very different after all, at least in this regard. He couldn't blame the man for something Shepard knew he couldn't let go.

Killing Haliat and his pirate crew, in the moment, had felt exhilarating. He could feel their fear, and it made him feel powerful. He knew it was wrong and it made him a monster. He could only find solace in the fact that Haliat had tried to kill him; to any normal person, the threat of death would have been absurd, but to Shepard it meant that he had a license to kill that person without second thoughts, or so he told himself.

He took a seat in one of the dozen chairs in the comm room. He leaned forward so that he was resting his elbows on his thighs and concentrated on the dull hum of the Normandy's engines. _I'm condemned, aren't I?_

* * *

"Are y'all right babe? You look pretty shaken up after today," she whispered. It was late at night, and they were in the cargo hold. They stood at the weapon's bench, cleaning their weapons so in case anyone caught them, they had an excuse.

"He didn't say anything about the mission, did he?"

"No, he didn't. You know he's reclusive, and I haven't even seen him today at all."

He shook his head in disgust. "Probably trying to kill himself," he spat.

This was worse than she'd thought. She'd never seen him this mad before. He was usually pretty calm and collected. This was something different. "Tell me what happened."

His brow furrowed, unsure. He'd never been so close to death, and he still felt like throwing up. How Shepard had killed those men today was…disturbing.

"Please?"

He put down the gun barrel, resting it on the table. He reached for the rag to wipe away the grease and gun oil that covered and blackened his hands. "I knew from the day that I stepped on the Normandy that it would be a rough ride."

His eyes were distant as they stared down at the floor. "First thing he did when he got down here, yelled at a bunch of troops gawking at him and started punching a locker because it wouldn't open."

She couldn't say she was surprised. His description of the commander was almost fitting.

"We almost died down their today, again."

Her voice caught in her throat. "What he do?"

He snorted. "It's not what he did. More like what people want to do to him." Then he slammed his fist down on the table in front of him. "And the damn alliance too. You know that when they sent out spy probes during the First Contact War, they put nukes on them?" he cried. "We were sent to clean up their mess. Except someone got there before us and tried to use the nuke to kill Shepard."

She wanted to crack a joke, to say that using a nuke was overkill, but Kaiden didn't need that right now. "Who was it?"

"Somebody trying to kill Shepard for one of the only things he did right. It was the man behind the god damn Skyllian Blitz."

"We never did find him," she mumbled.

"I almost died by one second today. We had to disarm that thing while he just stood there and watched. I sure as hell knew he didn't care what happened, but what about us?"

The fear of losing Kaiden, or even anyone for that matter, would be unbearable. It was too soon after Eden Prime. She didn't want to go through that again. "I'm sorry Kaiden. I'm just happy that you got out alive. If anyone could disarm that nuke, it was you."

"Ya right," he sighed. "If Tali hadn't been there, I would have been toast. I almost cut the wrong wire for crying out loud!" His voice, it gave him all away. He was scared of something. But he was a soldier, and they all knew that when they woke up in the morning, they ran the risk of dying that day. There must be something else.

"Kaiden…"

"I hate him. Bad things follow him everywhere he goes, and other people end up paying the price. And the worst part is I'm not sure he cares. He didn't even have the respect to listen to me when I was trying to prevent him from getting shot in the fucking back while he was telling some fucked up story from his childhood. Told me to 'Shut up'" he mocked with air quotes. "I don't want to die as an expendable cog."

"You're not, not to me."

"I know." He rested his hand on her shoulder. He wanted to say more, but he was afraid. He was afraid that this wouldn't last. He'd die, or she'd die, or the reapers would come and kill them all. Being a soldier was the worst profession for love and romance.

* * *

Shepard had been rummaging through his closet, looking for something. He found it in a metal box in the back corner, buried under his clothes. He opened the box. It was his collection of important items, the only things of meaning to him. It too was cluttered, which he found odd. He set it down on his bed and began to feverishly unpack the contents, looking for something.

He found it. The white and blue ribbon attached to it was specked with dust and the colors were fading from having been packed in such a mess. But the metal shone as clear and as bright as the day he had gotten it. He'd worn it only once, then he'd stuffed it away. He didn't care for fancy metals or praise. It was all a lie. The media had only cared because he had been willing to die for them. That's why they pretended to treat soldiers so nicely, it was a fucking bribe for people too scared to fight for themselves.

Except what had he ever even fought for? He'd seen humans attacking Elysium that day, much to his surprise. But to believe that the entire thing had been orchestrated by a human against a human colony…why did he bother fighting for them when they wanted to destroy themselves? Why not just let them die and fulfill the death they were seeking?

He clutched the metal in his hand and threw it into the ground. A chip flew off from one corner.

He never really cared for this thing, but now he just felt like outright destroying it.

He picked it up again and hurled it into the wall, throwing it as if he were throwing a baseball. Another piece of metal cracked off.

He picked it up again and placed the center of the metal on the edge of his desk. He struck its end with his palm. It cracked in half. He lobbed it into the garbage can, where he believed it belonged. He sat down at the foot of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and his forehead in his hands. He shut his eyes and screamed.


	38. Divide and Conquer

Shepard stood behind Joker's pilot chair, his arms crossed, staring out the window before him. A small, brown-yellow spec was the only thing that could be distinguished from the void beside it. Another colony gone dark. Another world to save. Another monster to stop. This pattern, it was getting repetitive for him.

He held his helmet between his arm and the side of his body. Except for this piece, he was fully suited in head-to-toe of metal, ballistic plating, and shields. Only an assault rifle was strapped to his back. The rest of his equipment was down in the cargo hold. If there would be a serious problem, he would pick it up before he left. No need to walk around with that many weapons for now.

"Any word from the colony yet, Joker?"

"None. Whatever's there, I don't have a good feeling about it."

"Agreed." _I've seen this too many times…_ "My team is on standby for now. Whatever it is, I'll blow them to hell and back," he growled.

"Why back? Seems rather futile."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Shepard 'laughed' back, mocking the pilot. His laugh lacked any hint of amusement and all the hostility of a pent-up psychopath.

"Sheesh, learn to take a joke." Silence followed for a tense minute or two.

"Why are you called joker?" John asked spontaneously.

"What?" He turned his head over his shoulder as best as he could, looking at the daunting soldier.

"You're a bit deaf, aren't you," Shepard snapped back. He didn't bother to look at Shepard when he spoke; he instead opted to look at the window.

"No, not deaf. Just wasn't sure why you, in particular, would want to know. Getting into personal territory here."

"Curious is all," he sighed. He didn't know why he had bothered asking at all. He had no vested interest in the information and there was no reason he needed to know either. "Never mind." He didn't need to know. He would have to silently observe the people around him to understand, as he had always done, peering quietly from the shadows.

The silent tension was unnerving. Joker continued to pilot the ship, trying to block the presence of the commander. The man had always scared him. Having him up here was more of a chore than anything else, although these were thoughts he'd never express to his face.

Joker tried to radio the colony again; nothing. The spec of yellow gradually grew and grew until it sat before them, taking up almost the entire view from the window.

"Scan it first. I'm not walking in there blind." _Not this time, not again._ Except there was no guarantee that the search would reveal anything.

The Normandy orbited the planet, its sensory array analyzing the ground below. So much technology he would never understand. Yet he relied on this kind of stuff day-in and day-out. When he was younger and still curious, he had tried to understand but never got more than a rudimentary knowledge. That was okay, it should be left for smarter people, like the scientists and technicians and pilots. He didn't need to know. Sometimes, it was easier to accept something as true rather than understand why it was true.

"Commander…" Joker said slowly.

Shepard did not like the tone.

"Sensor's telling me we got geth down below. And I'm picking up a cruiser."

Shepard groaned. Hope would never follow through. "Can you get me down there?"

"You're kidding, right? I'm the best pilot in the alliance."

"Calm your ego down. You fly the ship. I'm the one who has to fight my way through that mess."

* * *

He hated the decontamination cycle. It was like an insult. Combatants were probably waiting outside, ready to kill them, and his team was standing there, waiting for a fucking computer to tell him if they were clean. Fuck it.

"Contamination cycle complete."

He had no idea what to expect, and the fact that the door was slowly opening wasn't helping. But when he could see, there was nothing pretty. Fire and smoke billowed in the distance. He was confident that he could hear screams and explosions, but only faintly, for they were not close. The brownstone walkway was covered in dust. _Welcome to my hell._

He'd already told his team to expect the geth, so everyone was on already on edge, but seeing this place in such a dilapidated state made them even more uneasy. Rifle already in hand, he cautiously moved forward, his team following close behind. He turned the corner, only to find a body on the floor. It was human and riddled with bullet holes. Clearly a colonist. Shepard tapped the man with his foot to check for any signs of life, but it only confirmed what he knew to be true: this man was dead as dead can be. He heard whispers and mumbles of "Goddess" and "Jesus;" pretty easy to figure out who had said what.

He carefully tiptoed over the body and continued. There was nothing here he hadn't seen before. He didn't think he could get mad or upset anymore; the fuel for that had long ago burnt. All he had left was fighting. And that wasn't going to be in short supply this mission.

He spotted a geth hopping over a collapsed support column and land on the other side, rifle trained on him. Before he could even pull down on the trigger of his weapon, he saw the machine fly into the air and get tossed over the side of the stone railing. All he knew was that he wasn't responsible. Shepard couldn't help but look over and watch the thing fall through the clouds. Only now did he truly appreciate how high in the air they were. It would be a long, long drop down. It terrified him.

He hated how his team could only advance two at a time due to the narrowness of the dock. This place was a wreck and in need of urgent repair. It was falling apart as is.

An explosion shook the hanger, raining dust down on them. This place might not last very long. He got the Normandy on the comms. "Joker, get the hell out of here. It's not safe to remain docked. I'll contact you when we're finished."

"Copy that. Normandy away," Joker replied. The wind in the hangar began to pick up as the Normandy undocked, turned around, and sped away.

Two other geth appeared, having been alerted by their brethren before it went airborne. Shepard sprayed the passageway with bullets, but the machines only stumbled backward. The geth returned fire, but it was short-lived. The rest of his team unloaded their weapons at the geth, and the machines fell to the ground.

Shepard walked up to their corpses and fired shots into their optics for good measure. He hopped over the column and into the dark and dreary passageway behind the machines. This must be the way to the main colony. "Be careful in these tunnels, could be crawling with geth."

The tunnels were lit only by the dull brown haze from the sky. The darkness wasn't what was scary, it was the monster's you'd find inside. At least he was confident he could kill the geth. His team followed him, some opting to turn on their flashlights.

"Why are the geth even here?" someone spat. It was Tali.

He should have expected it. It was her people who got destroyed by the geth. He couldn't blame the machines, nor did he hate them for it: what they did was self-defense. Although he hated the geth now, and the quarians for having bothered to create them. It was a lesson in unintended consequences. Consequences that he was now mopping up, 300 years ex post facto. Shepard wanted to respond with the only answer he truly believed: that the geth were here to kill people. He'd seen so much violence all for naught. But this was Saren; his violence was surgical, imbued with purpose. "I don't know. But we're going to find out."

The narrow, dark corridor opened into a large area filled with prehab units and mechanical junk. Colonists covered in dirt and blood and sweat looked at him and his team as they filed out of the passageway. Some were on makeshift gurney's, slowly dying. He saw the fear in their eyes and the way they looked at him full of hope, even though they didn't know who he was. He was organic, and that was good enough for them.

"Please, you have to help us, the geth are going to kill everyone!" someone screamed.

"Oh thank god…" whispered another.

Shepard didn't need to hear their pleas to know that they needed help. What he did need to hear was where the geth were. "I need a status rep…" he tried to ask but caught himself mid-question. "Where are the geth?"

"Down that way!" she pointed with her hand. "We're trying to keep them at bay, but there are too many of them!" a colonist cried. He heard defeat in her voice; she was desperate and on the verge of giving up all hope. A child clung to her leg, almost trying to hide behind it. He realized that the kid was trying to hide from him and all the scary-looking aliens next to him. A part of him wanted to tell the kid that everything was going to be alright, that he wouldn't die, and that everything would go back to normal. But that was a promise he knew he could never keep. It wasn't his place to make anyway.

"I'll deal with them," Shepard told her. By then, some of the colonists tentatively began to approach his ragtag team of soldiers. They looked like shit, like they hadn't slept, eat, or drank in way too long. They were civilians in the middle of a warzone.

He turned away from them. Time was of the essence, and every second he wasted looking at them meant the geth would gain the upper hand in the battle. He couldn't help these people by taking care of them or reassuring them. He could only stop the thing that was killing them. They'd have to figure out the rest for themselves.

"Let's go."

He started to run in the direction the woman had pointed him to, rifle in hand. He passed by rehabs and vehicles and random technical equipment. With each step, the sounds of gunfire and combat got louder and louder.

However, something else, something far more dire, caught his attention: colonists, hiding behind a barricade, about to be overrun by geth. In the second he took to comprehend the situation, another colonist lost her life, shot through the head when she had tried to peak and fire.

"Hostiles dead ahead. Don't let them take that barricade!"

One of the greatest fears was having an enemy overrun your position. Yes, they were soldiers, and yes, they knew that they could lose their life at any moment. But there was always comfort and security in having a secure perimeter. Maybe the enemies were out there and still trying to kill you, but for now, you were safe. Yet that safety would be taken away if you allowed the enemy at your doorstep to cross over. Then you would always have to watch your back and expect to be shot at any time. That was the security the colonists were about to lose, and they didn't need to be soldiers to know it. That's why they fought so hard, they fought for the sense of home and were willing to give their lives for the improbable chance of hanging on to it.

The geth had noticed the new arrivals. They were unplanned, but the geths' code told them that their orders were still the same: wipe everyone out. Although they needed a new plan. The majority of them retargeted their weapons on the soldiers; no surprise, they were the greater threat to the completion of their mission. There were a dozen of them versus nine colonists and seven skilled combatants.

Shepard's team ducked and rolled behind cover: various pieces of scattered debris, makeshift metal barricades, crates, rocks and the like would do fine as long as they stopped bullets. The crew of the Normandy weren't stupid enough to charge right up to the barricade; they would be shot dead before they ever got there. At least most of them thought that way.

Shepard had a different plan. He was feeling rash, and his blood boiled with a desire to kill these things. They'd ruined enough colonies and homes already. The commander wasn't certain how late he'd been this time, or how many people had fallen to these machines; it didn't matter because he'd stopped counting long ago. All he knew was who was responsible, and it didn't matter that they couldn't feel pain. He would make their death a misery. He could only hope he could hold his biotics and shields long enough to reach the geth. Twenty meters to go.

He rushed forward at a blazing fast sprint. The geth recalculated their approach and decided to focus their fire on him. He could faintly feel the pings of rounds as his shields absorbed and dissipated their kinetic energy, but he could definitely hear the sound of his suit screaming to him about dangerously low shields. Unfortunately, not even a strong conviction could alter reality. He rolled to the side and behind a sheet of twisted metal.

Although inadvertently, his mad rush had provided for a good distraction for the rest of his team. Garrus and Williams had already decommissioned several units with their sniper rifles. Towards the back of the geth contingent, he thought he saw several units sparking and turn to fire on their allies from behind.

"If you told me I would have joined!" he heard someone scream over the comms.

"Your too fat and slow, Wrex, shut up!"

John couldn't help but snort at the hostile comradery between Garrus and Wrex. Except now wasn't the time to appreciate it. Shepard got up from behind cover as the geth sought to deal with the mutiny within their own ranks. Chaos was the perfect time to strike, and his shields had partially recovered. Shepard ran forward, closing the distance between him and the colonists. When he did reach them, he didn't bother to take cover, instead opting to brazenly hop over the barricade.

He was now face-to-face with the enemy in close quarters. A geth lunged towards him, attempting to cudgel him with its assault rifle. He dodged to his left, narrowly missing the strike; as the geth tried to recover, Shepard fed it led at point-blank.

 _Shit…_ The handful of geth left turned on him. He blasted them with a push from his biotics, trying to buy time. Some lost their footing and toppled backward with a loud metal crash. But not the geth prime who had managed to absorb the blast and quickly recover.

Behind him, he heard screaming; he thought it was more people dying. But then the prime's optic exploded in a shower of sparks; the motors in its body tensed up before it stiffened and fell to the ground. The geth on the ground around it seemed to suffer no better a fate, pelted again and again by small arms fire as they tried to get up. He realized the screams were a war cry from the colonists. He wanted to call them dumb and tell them that they shouldn't have risked it. But that would be for later. He trained his rifle on the remaining geth and held down the trigger, spraying them with rounds until they fell to the ground as little more than sparking heaps of metal.

The gunfire subsided, and the echo of shots gradually faded away into the air. John slowly lowered his rifle, listening to the quiet rustle of the winds. Confident that there wouldn't be any more lethal surprises, for now, he turned to face those who had decided to rush behind him: terrified but with conviction. He could see his crew about ten meters behind the barricade, weapons still raised out of caution and advancing towards him. They'd done well.

"The hell was that?" he spat accusingly, as if they'd done something wrong.

A man stepped forward, ready to speak for the others. "We didn't think it was fair to send you out there all by yourself. This is our colony too, and we're prepared to defend it."

He was about to speak when he heard a gun's safety come off. He abruptly turned his head to the sound. "I would advise you to holster your weapon. Your nothing but a guard," he snarled. "Do you have any idea who you're pointing that weapon at?"

"That's the problem: we don't know." She turned back to look at the soldier's team. "And your company is rather odd and heavily armed like you. Forgive me if I have some reservations, but this place has had enough trouble already."

Shepard took his helmet off, revealing an unamused man leveling an intense glare at the group. "How about we all go find some cover before we all get shot to bits?!"

The group instantly recognized his face. If they didn't know him from the Blitz, they definitely knew him as the first human spectre.

"Well, I'll be damned…they sent Commander Shepard?" The guard slowly holstered her gun. "I don't know what to say, sir. I'm sorry."

* * *

With his helmet off, he could smell the ash in the air. He thought he could smell burnt flesh too, but only a little. The way these people wrinkled their noses in confusion meant that they faintly smelled something disgusting, but the way they wrinkled their brows meant they didn't know what it was. Shepard decided not to say anything. These people had clearly suffered enough and were barely holding together as is. He wasn't prepared to deal with their complete mental breakdowns.

"It's been like this for almost two weeks now, commander."

Shepard was speaking to the man who had first spoken to him before. His name was Fai Dan, the man who was running this mess of a place. Leaning against one of the walls was the last surviving guard of the colony. They stood under the wreckage of what remained of a partially blown out prefab. Its walls were charred black with soot from a fire, and half the roof was missing. He doubted that the remnants of the thin plastic and metal walls would provide any protection to the people who hid behind them. Yet it somehow still provided comfort to the people it sheltered. It was better than being out in the open, and he had no other option than to agree with that.

"And the alliance never sent anyone to help?"

The man shook his head solemnly. "No, they couldn't have known. These machines have been blocking our transmitter ever since they got here."

During their entire conversation, Fai Dan was jittery, and to be honest, not paying attention. Instead, his eyes darted around the room rapidly, scanning it over and over again. Anytime he heard a small noise, he would turn and stare in that direction like a hawk. John wasn't surprised. The people of this colony had been fighting for their lives for days and even through sleepless nights too. They were probably already over the edge.

The guard decided to speak up. "Besides, we're not even really under their jurisdiction," she shrugged. "We're chartered under the Exo-Geni corporation. They promised to help set up this place."

"Ha!" Shepard snorted. He looked at the guard. "Of course you greedy bastards would try to bring people out here if you made money." His tone darkened. "And now I have to get you out of this mess."

"Your preaching to the choir here. Trust me, I'm not getting paid very handsomely. None of us are. We were prepared to defend against kids writing graffiti on the walls, not these machines! I was a cop before all this, not a soldier." She gulped. "I…we tried our best but… there are too many of them and they're too well equipped."

A brief flurry of gunfire erupted outside. Fai Dan and the guard jumped, the former reaching for the sidearm tucked in his waistband, and the latter pointing her assault rifle at the open door. Shepard didn't hear any further commotion, so he decided to radio in. "What's going on out there? Over."

"Just another batch of geth scout drones. They've been dealt with, but more will be coming soon" replied a raspy voice.

"Copy that, Garrus. Maintain the perimeter but let me know if you need me."

"Got it, boss." His comm clicked off.

Shepard turned back to face the frightened duo. "Nothing serious. It's already been taken care of." He watched them slowly lower their weapons, hands shaking.

"What I wouldn't give to have had you and your team here the day this started," Fai Dan mentioned under his breath.

"And since when did the alliance have aliens on the payroll?"

"Martinez!" shouted Fai Dan. "Commander, I'm sorry for…"

He decided to reply instead of giving Fai Dan the time to apologize. "Believe me, I was never enthused to be working with aliens." He tilted his head to one side, almost as if he were considering something. "I would never have believed myself," he muttered. "But they… have their uses." He turned to face the guard now. "And they don't work for the alliance, they work for me." He finished speaking and tension hung in the air.

They couldn't anticipate or predict Shepard's next move. Even though they didn't consciously know it, they were slowly backing into the wall, inch by inch, and their bodies shrunk as if they were trying to hide from him. "Commander," Fai Dan stuttered.

Shepard realized he was scaring them, and it was probably the last thing they needed right now. There were problems far bigger at play here. He decided to change the subject. "I'm going to need all the information you have. I still barely have any idea what's going on here."

Fai Dan nodded. "The geth started attacking here more than a week ago. At first, they weren't trying to kill us." He paused to collect his thoughts before continuing. "But we heard the stories and the rumors." His voice became hollow, almost like a hoarse whisper, and he struggled to speak. "We tried to call for help but no one ever responded. It was days before we figured out why. We could only hide and prepare as best we could."

The guard, who he now knew was called Martinez, picked up where Fai Dan left off. "One day, they started attacking us out of nowhere. We had expected it, but there wasn't much we could do. I don't know how we've been able to repel them for this long, but we weren't going to last much longer. Every day that passed, we would lose more people, and with them our chance of fighting the geth off." She turned to look at Fai Dan, who was suddenly very preoccupied with the floor. "But if it hadn't been for him, we would have all been dead already."

Shepard forced himself to put on a comforting smile. It hurt like hell having to contort his facial muscles in such a manner. "You guys would've put any alliance company to shame. You did the best you could with what little you had for a situation you could never have expected." He let his words sink in before continuing. "But the cavalry is here, and we'll ensure that all those people hadn't died in vain." His words felt like lies in his mouth as he spoke them. He didn't really mean or care about anything he had just said. He had only spoken to lift their morale long enough so he could get the information he needed. Even then, these weren't his words; they were someone else's from years ago. He could only keep the façade up for so long. His smile slowly wavered and disappeared altogether.

"Thank you, commander, but…we've lost so many friends."

Reaching his limit for soppy shit, he decided to change tracks. "I need to know everything you know about the geth: positions, numbers, armaments."

Shepard was looking at Fai Dan for the answer, but it was Martinez who replied instead. "Our most immediate problem is the geth crawling through the tunnels under this place. The tunnel you came in through was only one in a vast network underneath us. They extend for miles underground."

"What the hell?" Shepard asked in astonishment, "who thought it was a good idea to include that in your colony?"

"It wasn't our idea commander. We never built this place, we found it. Thirty-thousand-year-old prothean skyscrapers, we thought it was the perfect place to set up." Fai Dan swallowed before continuing. "We never thought they'd be used against us, we only wanted some easy shelter. And now that the geth control those tunnels, not only do they try to kill us directly, they've blocked us off from our water and power supply. And we have no food left."

"How bad?"

"We've been rationing, but it won't last more than the next two or three days."

"The alliance would need more time than that to get here," he whispered to himself. He had no fantasy nor desire to fight an army of geth off or flush them out from dark tunnels all by himself. He could wait until he received backup and let these people die of thirst, starvation, or the geth, but was that what he wanted to do? _No, I should do better than that. I…I can do better than that._ The Normandy probably had enough food to sustain the colony for a short while, depending upon its size. But water? No, not even close. The Normandy depended upon water recyclers to constantly reuse the water they would consume or use for cooking and cleaning. There was no way the _Normandy_ could sustain an entire colony's water consumption. These people would die unless he did something, fast.

"My pilot told me there was a geth cruiser near here too. Any idea where that is?"

Martinez nodded her head grimly. "It's docked at a building south from here."

"But you have a warship too," Fai Dan interrupted in desperation, "can't you fight it off or destroy it."

Shepard let out a short, sharp laugh, almost as if trying to insult Fai Dan's suggestion. "The _Normandy_ is a stealth frigate. It has nowhere near enough firepower to go head-to-head with a cruiser."

"Oh," the man mumbled to himself. Fai Dan's shoulders slumped in defeat, weighed down by the fate of the people he was responsible for.

"Anything else I should know about?"

They considered for a moment before responding. "There's another group of colonists that we lost contact with after all this began-" Fai Dan mentioned.

Martinez cut in before Fai Dan could finish speaking: "Forget it, they're dead by now."

"We have to try. They could still be out there; I'm not going to give up on them, we can't!"

"Great," Shepard enunciated sarcastically, "how many are we talking about here?"

Fai Dan through his hands up in the air before placing them on his head. "I…I don't know. There were a couple dozen, but by now, it's probably less than that."

John drew a deep breath and let it out forcefully through his nose. He knew that if he did nothing and waited, more people would die. A part of him wanted to play it safe; he was okay with dying, but his team? No. Yet it felt wrong to let these people lose everything just like he had. They'd already lost so much, but there might still be something worth saving…if he could figure it out. He had a seven-man team yet there was so much that needed to be done. "And is there a way I can get to them?"

"We have a small truck," Fai Dan offered submissively.

John shrugged. He didn't know what he was expecting, a tank?

* * *

His team was gathered in a loose circle. Even though they were supposed to be paying attention, each one of them would occasionally look over their shoulders. Even though it was quiet now, it was still a warzone, and the situation would change at any time.

"Well, we certainly have our mouths full," laughed Wrex after Shepard had concluded explaining the circumstances.

Shepard nodded his head solemnly. "Unfortunately, yes. You're really itching for a fight, aren't you?" Shepard stated with a hint of pessimism.

"Ha! I'm a krogan!"

He looked around at his team, who weren't looking as enthusiastic as the krogan. But they were still determined, and that was all he could expect from them.

"So, what's the plan then, commander?" Liara asked.

"We're splitting up," he replied. Stunned silence followed the remark, so he decided to add "Into three teams," after a moment's pause. No, the decision wasn't made on a whim, but had been made earlier; he thought it better to tell them all the bad news now than save it for later. He called the latter option bullshitting.

"Now we're really going to die. Thanks, Wrex," Garrus quipped.

"You're welcome, kid."

"Kaiden, take Wrex and Williams. You need to clean out the tunnels under this place, or they're going to keep attacking us by surprise."

"Copy that," Kaiden replied.

Garrus started chuckling to himself. "Do you think his fat ass is going to fit down there?"

"Do remember, turian," Wrex spat, "that it was my race that flushed the rachni out of their caves."

Shepard wasn't going to concern himself with this bickering. Maybe he should have, but he was an unconventional person, and that included how he operated. As long as it wasn't an impediment to the mission, he didn't care. And as it turned out, the jousting provided more comedic relief than harm, so it was fine by him.

"I'm going to find some missing colonists. Garrus, Tali," he looked at each one as he spoke their name, "you're with me."

"But then…I'm going by myself?" Liara demanded, exasperated.

"No, no you're not going anywhere. You're staying here. With the colonists." Shepard didn't blame her for her response. She wasn't a soldier, but what made it worse was that she would be alone. Except she wouldn't be alone, not technically. "You're going to protect them in case anything happens while we're gone. And help them however else you can." Shepard was fairly certain that if anything happened, she would have the best chance of living. These people, at least the ones that were left, had served for days already; it was surprising and something he…admired. At least these people had the balls to fight for themselves. They could last a couple more hours, especially now that they had help.

He slowly turned his head to look at his team. "I know that the situation we're in is," he tried to pick the right word, "unfavorable." _Fuck it._ "And by that I mean we could easily die." He didn't want to look at them anymore; he was leading them to their deaths; so, he looked at the ground instead. "But if we don't do anything, these people will be dead."

"We're right behind you, Shepard."

He looked up at them through narrow eyes. "Then let's get moving." He put on his helmet and watched the HUD display light up in front of him.

* * *

Shepard approached a rusted old truck. He could have sworn it was more than several decades old, but he was no mechanic. It reminded him of the trucks he used to see back 'home', although he hated using that word. He saw the telltale marks of bullet holes on its side. Could this thing still operate? He kicked one of the tires, and feeling its stiffness, knew that it wasn't flat. He could only hope that this tire served as an indication for the other three.

"We're supposed to fight geth in that thing?" Garrus asked.

Shepard pulled on the door, but it wouldn't budge. He put his weight into pulling on it, and the door finally came loose while simultaneously sending him tumbling to the floor. "I'll see if Joker can drop the Mako later on, but he can't do it with this roof over our heads," he sighed as he got up.

Garrus looked up and saw the ceiling of stone and metal above them. "Oh."

He hopped into the driver's seat and tried to start the truck with the key the colonists had given him. The key was something he had rarely seen throughout his life; it was a relic from centuries ago, and the fact that it was used to start this truck was a testament to how old this piece of crap was. He inserted the key into the ignition and turned it; the engine coughed and sputtered but refused to start. He tried to start the truck again, and with every tick of the engine's ignition, he felt he was on the verge of success, except it refused to work. He let go of the key, giving this wreck of a truck a second to maybe wake up from its slumber. He then angrily reached for the key again, twisting it strongly, as if strong-arming it would force it to work. The key snapped; in his hand was its head, and stuck in the ignition, was the actual key.

"Fuck…" Shepard sighed. He sat there for a moment, resting his hands on the wheel.

"Do you want me to try to fix the truck?" Tali offered.

"No, I got this." He hated this feeling of being a useless, clumsy wreck. He wanted to be more than that, but every day provided more evidence to the contrary. He was forever unable to handle the delicate things in life properly. Although he was pretty sure he could figure this out; hopefully; otherwise he'd look like a stubborn ass in addition to being an idiot. He removed his gauntlets and set them to rest on the dashboard. He would fix this.

He stepped out of the truck and then rested his knee on the bottom of the doorframe. He tore the cheap plastic off the bottom of the steering column to expose its wiring, and carefully passed the different wires through his fingers, trying to find the right ones. It was almost like muscle memory. He felt confidence in his bones, and then it hit him, he'd done this before…somewhere. Finding the wires he needed, he tore them in half. He almost found himself reaching for a pocketknife, except he remembered that he didn't have one. Deciding the next best option was his fingernails, he started stripping the dirty rubber covering to expose the metal ends.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Garrus leaning over slightly, watching him work. "Be careful with the red ones. They're-"

"I know what they are, Garrus," he spat. It depressed him to know that they thought him dumb enough to electrocute himself; he didn't want their help, not now. He wanted to ask why they didn't trust him to do this right, but he subconsciously knew the answer: he'd never done anything to inspire trust.

He kept the red wires from touching one another as he tied another pair of wires together. He then delicately held the two ends of the red wire between his index and thumb; they belonged to the battery. This was the moment of truth. He touched the two ends of the red wires together, and he was relieved to hear the sound of the ignition clicking again. After a few seconds, the car's engine sputtered to life. It started slow and uneven, but it eventually sped up; he felt satisfaction from hearing the sound of the engine and feeling its vibration through the frame of the car. He stood up, sat back in the driver's seat, and put on his gauntlets. He reached for the door and slammed it closed, slightly jostling the truck.

He felt Garrus' and Tali's eyes on him. He turned to look at them in return. Garrus' jaw and mandibles were slightly ajar, and he thought that Tali's white, glowing eyes, were slightly larger than usual. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just that I never thought that you could, you know, um…" Tali tried to say, but was too meek and afraid of possibly insulting her commander. It didn't matter, though, because Garrus finished the thought for her.

"I thought you were shit with tech? Where'd you learn that?"

"I am shit with tech. Doesn't mean I never picked anything up." He felt insulted, except that he knew their doubt and shock were justified. The second part of Garrus' question made him think for a time. He slowly remembered where he had learned this, the people he'd learned it from, and what he had used it for. It felt like so long ago. Even what knowledge he did have, however incomplete, was still corrupted and impure. "Something I picked up from my childhood," he said shamefully. This admission out loud, even of an incomplete truth, robbed him of any satisfaction he was feeling.

He turned away from them and set his eyes on the road in front of him. His right hand reached down and put the truck's transmission into drive. He tentatively applied pressure on the gas pedal. He could ponder about his past later; for now, there were colonists to save, and more importantly, geth to kill. Killing was fun. And who knows, maybe he could find Saren, put the turian's body into the ground, and take a nice long break.

* * *

"You know, I thought Shepard would have wanted to be the one charging through these tunnels and killing geth," Ashley quietly told the group. "Instead, he went to try and find the colonists."

Wrex heard the comment from behind him. He turned halfway to reply to her. "I don't think it matters, human. There are geth crawling everywhere. He will find enough to kill."

Williams shrugged. "I guess you're right." In the near darkness of the tunnel, the krogan's face was hidden; the only thing she could see was glowing red, reptilian eyes. She would be lying if she had said they didn't scare her. It revealed something predatorial in the mercenary if being a krogan wasn't enough. "Let's hope he finds them, though."

Wrex turned around and started to walk forward again. It was almost comical seeing his backside have to squeeze through the dark passageways. "He will find them."

"My omnitool's telling me they're on our right, although they're a couple of hundred meters away," Kaiden chimed in.

"Whatever you say, Lieutenant." Wrex continued to walk until he reached the intersection. He stopped and took time to peer down each dark corridor: nothing, for now. As Kaiden had informed, he turned right and started to trudge in the new direction.

"Although I'm not sure they'll be alive when he does find them," Wrex muttered under his breath. He wasn't under the impression that Shepard went towards the colonists to avoid a fight. Well, anything was possible; he'd lived long enough to know that; but still, highly improbable.

Wrex had never thanked the commander for taking him along. That was okay; he wasn't good at pleasantries and it didn't seem that Shepard would care either way. Regardless, these past few months had been more fun than anything he'd done over the last century. Sure, he spent most of his time on a ship, but was it any different than standing on a street corner or bar entrance? Except on the Normandy, he not only fought but fought for a reason. He was happy to kill either way, but this was different.

He heard a pebble or two drop to the ground. He trained his shotgun in front of him and growled, but nothing appeared. It was a false alarm, just some noise caused by the disturbance of this place. He lowered his weapon and returned to walking. What had been on his mind again? Yes, the reason to fight. Fighting was one thing, but to fight for something good, like stopping Saren and a massive army of geth, felt better. He didn't care about saving people, he'd seen too much over the years to know that everyone would die sooner or later; however, saving them was like an unexpected bonus, and it made him feel like what he did was making a difference. It reminded him of… Tuchanka, when he had tried to unite the krogan clans and make them greater than traveling warrior bands biting the dust. Although this thought turned his positively-ambivalent mood to ash in his mouth. He had to remember how that had turned out. At least for now, Shepard hadn't lied when he said there would be a lot of fighting. And what greater honor could there be but to fight a worthy adversary like Saren? At least this time, if he failed, the whole galaxy would be destroyed instead of just the krogan. But he didn't feel like dying or losing to a blasted turian.

"A group of them are just ahead," Kaiden whispered.

Ahead of him, Wrex could see the tunnel open into a large room. He slowly approached the edge. The machines were just below him, unaware of his presence. He jumped into the air, pointed his shotgun at the machines, and started to fire as he dropped down, disabling one of them. He landed on another unit, crushing it under his weight. The remaining two geth fell to the ground, withering and spasming. "I didn't know you could make them dance Alenko!" he roared in laughter, clearly enjoying the carnage in front of him.

"He's a terrible dancer, actually. I wouldn't recommend him."

He stomped down on the torso of one of the units, steadying it before blasting it with his shotgun. He then aimed at the head of the other machine and decommissioned it as well. He narrowed his eyes and scanned all around him. Everything was quiet. Ashley and Alenko followed him down to the platform below, albeit more delicately. Wrex turned to face them. "And how would you know about that, human?"

"Umm…" she stuttered before coming to her senses. "What do you mean? I was just making a joke!"

"Uh-huh. You can lie to me because I'm dumb, but you can't lie to my nose. I can smell your stench," he taunted. He loved toying with them. Their confusion and fear were fun to watch.

"I don't understand, Wrex. Smell what?"

Wrex started rumbling in laughter as he turned back around to face the rest of the empty room. He could see another dark passage leading out of this place. Time to see what other monsters lay hidden in the dark. "Just pushing your control panel, let's go." _Wait, was that the right human expression? Damn it, it doesn't matter._

As he approached the dark hallway that led out of this room, he thought he could hear heavy panting. He instantly switched back to being deathly serious. "Something is in there," he growled. Alenko pointed his flashlight into the hallway, revealing what the mystery was.

"Varen!" Wrex roared as the creature jumped to tackle him. It was certainly one of the largest he'd ever seen. He shot it in midair, but the massive body continued to hurtle towards him, ragged teeth and claws ready to slash and tear. In the split second he had, he could also see its brethren appear in the hallway behind it, snarling. This was going to get ugly, fast, especially if there were a lot of them. He might live, but he didn't want to return the soldiers to Shepard as little more than bloodied sacs of meat and bone.

The varen slammed into him, almost knocking him over. It bit his arm in the process and wracked him with its claws, but Wrex fired his weapon into its abdomen at point-blank. Its guts exploded out its back and onto its pack members. He could tell that they weren't happy.

"Raaaaaghh!" He charged the varen, attempting to meet them head-on. Except he never met them. A wall of blue force slammed all the creatures into the wall. With nothing to collide with, he stumbled to the ground, landing on one knee. He could hear Alenko straining to keep all the creatures at bay.

Ashley fired her shotgun into the pack of animals, and with each shot, she took a step closer until she was just to Wrex's right. By then, the creatures were all dead, nothing beyond a bloody pulp.

"Thank you, human." He would have expected them to turn tail and run. They could have used him as a distraction, tried to climb back up the ledge, and shoot the creatures from safety. Instead, they had chosen to help him. Admirable. He cradled his arm close to his body. Some of the varen's teeth had sunken into the flesh unprotected by his armor plates. His skin might be a tough, leathery hide, but no matter how much he boasted that he was a krogan, he wasn't invincible. He stood up, trying to shake off the injury.

"You need a minute, Wrex?" Alenko asked.

"I'll be fine. It will regenerate. Soon," he spat through gritted teeth. _Is that a tooth in my arm?_ "I'm a krogan, remember?" He tried to pick it out of his flesh, but his fat fingers only seemed to worsen the problem. He would have to take it out later.

* * *

Simply, she was frightened. It was just her in her light armor. All she had was a pistol. Well, she had an assault rifle too, but she wasn't too confident in her skills with it. So ya, for all intents and purposes, she had a pistol. And her biotics; those were probably her best weapon. If the geth were to attack now, while Shepard and the others were gone, all that was standing between them and the colonists was her; supposedly. She certainly entertained the possibility that if anything did happen, these colonists would do a better job than she would; they'd held out for this long, what would the addition of one meek asari do?

She sat on the steps of one of the last intact prefab units. Every sound she heard or flash that she saw out of the corner of her eye frightened her; her heart would temporarily calm itself when it turned out it wasn't geth. It was only a matter of time, though, and with each second that passed, the probability of another attack increased. Alone and with time to ponder, Liara now realized something. Shepard did indeed scare her, especially on the Normandy. But down here, in the midst of battle, his presence was a reassurance that they stood a fighting chance no matter the odds. She had taken his presence for granted, and now that he was gone, she desperately wished that he too was on guard with her.

"You really did save us back there."

She looked up and saw the female cop from earlier. Liara got up to greet her, but she insisted that she didn't have to. "Please, you've done enough. I don't wish to burden you further."

She sat down beside her, although she noted the fact that she'd left considerable space between the two of them. She hadn't come here to pester her; well at least not in that way. "Arcelia Martinez. I'm one of the lucky few to be this colony's guard."

"Liara T'Soni. However, I'm assuming you already know I work with Shepard."

"I just wanted to thank you again for all that your team is doing."

"We're happy to help." She replied simply. Liara decided to maybe add some light humor to the conversation. "Although I'm pretty sure your people were the ones to save Shepard back there, not us."

She snorted. "You mean when Commander Shepard jumped over the barricade? How could anyone not follow that man into battle?"

"Yes, he does have a certain quality to him I suppose."

"You should hear the kids talking about him. They thought an angel came down from the sky to save them," she added.

"Angel, huh." The way Martinez was talking was almost antithetical to what she expected. They treated him like a hero; because today he was their hero. "Do you hear a lot about him."

"Oh, all the time. I would be lying if I said otherwise. I mean he's Commander John fucking Shepard. For a lot of us humans, he's what we strive to be. Everyone knows the name: he's a military hero."

She clasped her hands together, unsure of what to say. Liara thought she heard either admiration or something else in that tone, but she wasn't going to focus on that now. She instead decided to ask about something far more interesting. "You seem to hold him in a rather mythical light." Why would anyone want to be like him? A wreck of a man with an equally horrible and dreadful past.

"Sole survivor of Akuze. Saved Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz. Saved Eden Prime. And those are just the big ones on the news that I can remember."

At the mention of Eden Prime, she felt a pang in her gut. Even though she wasn't responsible for her mother's actions, she couldn't deny the slightest bit of guilt. Martinez didn't seem to notice, so she continued.

"As if everything before wasn't enough, he's humanity's first spectre. He's been hunting down the worst out there for god knows how long. And now, he just saved us at our darkest hour." She turned her head towards the sky, almost as if she were thanking one god or another. "That man's done a lot of good. Went through hell and back so we could be safe."

She had words that she wanted to say, but they turned to ashes in her mouth. She couldn't deny all the things Shepard had done to help people. But likewise, she couldn't deny all the things he'd done to hurt them. These people simply didn't know the truth. Out of ignorance of the facts, they treated him as the best that humanity had to offer. They only knew one side. They hadn't been given the pleasure of being inside the commander's fractured mind. She'd studied the human religions before, decades ago. For humans, angels were spiritual beings who brought messages from their gods. "Angel indeed," she replied. She remembered that many of the human religions had a special angel or deity whose only purpose was to take the spirits of the dead. _Angel of Death._

"What's he like, you know, when he's not on the battlefield."

 _Uh oh._ She knew the answer because she'd seen the story of his life from his perspective; something she was still trying to forget. There was no honest answer that she could give that would shine positively on the commander. But there was no reason to trash talk him; and besides, even if he deserved to pay for the things he'd done, what he was doing now was too important to ruin. Now and then, it's just better to lie.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Rather normal, believe it or not." She'd had enough of this topic and decided to change the conversation to something that had been eating at her nerves. "I have a question if you don't mind, about the colony."

"Shoot."

"Huh?"

"Means go ahead and ask."

"I was visiting your medical center earlier, and-"

"It's more of a repurposed housing unit. Our actual medical center went up in flames days ago. I'm sorry, continue."

Liara cleared her throat. "As I was saying, I was visiting your medical center earlier. There were a lot of people in there who were, how do I put this gently, not in the right mind."

Martinez sighed. "You mean insane?"

Liara knew that these were civilians, not hardened soldiers. Their experience must have been harrowing, to say the least. They had lost friends and family members. Even Liara was still reminiscing about the death of her mother, something she had been trying to keep out of her thoughts, so she understood how these people must feel after having lost so much more than her. But that didn't explain the gibberish mumblings and nightmarish screams that emanated from that place.

"Bluntly, yes. I don't mean to trivialize what they've been through, but their reaction is unlike anything I have seen and most unusual."

"I'm not going to lie, it's strange. But given what's been happening around here," she spread her arms in reference to their surroundings, "I can't say I'm surprised. It's something we're going to have to sort out after this conflict. If we even live to see that day," she added darkly.

* * *

The tunnels extended for miles, yet they were the size of highways. A truly impressive feat for the protheans who had built this place. Something felt odd about driving along this road, forty-thousand years after-the-fact. The people who made these were long dead; would this scene one day become the ruins of all civilization? Probably. Everything dies.

Tali wondered if this scene was what she would find if she ever returned to the quarian homeworld, Rannoch: the ruins of a dead people. And given the decaying state of their ships, indeed they would be dead soon. Every quarian's dream was to one day return to their homeworld, yet that was the problem, it was a dream. Today, she had to admit that she felt a sense of smug irony, an "I told you so" moment. The council had waged a bargain; the other races had refused to help the quarians fight the geth, so the geth drove the quarians to near extinction; in exchange, they would hope that the geth wouldn't turn on the council races. For the next 300 years, it appeared that the council was right. But not today; now they would feel the sting of the geth and their mysterious and powerful allies, the reapers. Tali didn't have all the pieces, but having studied the history of the geth, she didn't think they would stop at attacking fringe human colonies. Sooner or later, they would go for the big prize.

The only thing stopping the geth, for now, where the humans. More specifically, one man. Yes, she along with the other members of the crew were here with him too. However, if he swept it under the rug as the council did, who knows, maybe the geth would have already killed them all by now. The fact that they were even here, fighting the geth, was all because of him. She certainly had no qualms about fighting the geth; every time she shot one to pieces, she felt like she was delivering cosmic justice. Unfortunately, there was a lot of baggage that came with serving on the Normandy. Well, the ship itself was fine, but it's commander? No.

"I'm picking up something on the scanners," Tali mentioned from the back seat. "And besides, we're near the coordinates Fai Dan provided us. I think it may be the colonists."

"Doubtful they could have lived that long. They're dead," he replied.

His utter denial of hope was in spite of the fact that the colonists of Zhu's Hope had managed to survive. Why did he refuse to believe in hope? And he replied so effortlessly, like accepting the fact that dozens of people were massacred was easy.

"Regardless, give me the directions." He removed one of his hands from the steering wheel to crack his neck. "And prepare for geth," he added in a low tone.

"It's a click down this road. Make a left and take the ramp down."

The engine of the truck groaned louder, and the fragile cabin began to shake so much she thought it would fall apart all around them. Shepard was driving the truck even faster than before. This action, in place of his silence, spoke just as much about his intentions. It was the demonstration of his carnal desire for violence.

They neared the ramp, but Shepard wasn't slowing down. "I think we're close," she told him, but instead of slowing down, he pushed the truck even faster. He was slouched in his seat, and only one of his hands was now one the steering wheel. She couldn't even tell if his eyes were on the road, and maybe that was the scariest part.

"Shepard," Garrus tried. "Shepard," he tried again, louder, but John was not responding to his name. He was clearly in a world of his own. "Commander!" he yelled.

A second hand returned to the wheel, and the truck began to rapidly decelerate will entering the turn for the ramp. Tali slid along the seat until she was pushed into the door by inertia. The scariest part was that she could have sworn that, for a brief moment, some of the truck's wheels weren't touching the floor.

The painful screeching of the back wheels was audible as the truck slid in an arc onto the next ramp. When they reached the bottom, a short road was visible, and beyond it, a barricaded room. The vehicle ground to a halt and Shepard jumped out, pointing his assault rifle at the fortification. They heard his voice over the comms, spewing out one simple but harsh order: "Let's get this over with."

Still feeling a bit queasy from the wild ride, she pulled on the handle and pushed the door open. A little bit uneasy on her feet, she stumbled a few steps.

"You alright?" Garrus asked as he too got out.

"I'll be fine," she replied.

They turned to run after Shepard, but he was already halfway to the barricade. He had no intention of waiting for them. He did not want to wait for them, even though if there were geth, he would need them. She opened her omnitool, trying to scan the area for any geth, except she couldn't find any.

"I don't think there are any-"

From behind the barricade, half-a-dozen people popped up, training an assortment of weapons at the charging human.

"HALT!" they screamed.

Shepard's run slowed until he was taking little more than shuffling footsteps.

"Halt, or we will fire!"

These were no geth; they were the colonists that Shepard said were dead. Yet his rifle was still raised at them. In the back of her mind, she was frightened by the possibility that he would fire at the colonists all the same. An invisible but dreadful weight was lifted off her shoulders as Shepard lowered his weapon and eventually stowed it across his back. But he didn't stop walking forward. Instead, he berated the frightened. "Put that shit away before you hurt yourself," he hissed.

Garrus stopped a few feet behind Shepard, and Tali a few feet behind Garrus. They were still uncertain about how this situation would turn out. They could not stand next to him in confidence. This wasn't the first time a similar situation had happened today. Something was agitating him, making him more aggressive and violent than usual. And no one would have the courage to ask.

The colonists turned to look at one another, searching for reassurance about their next action. Seconds went by, and then the weapons of the colonists wavered to the ground. "As long as you're not a geth, I guess you're a welcome sight."

Rancorous laughter emanated from the commander and eerily echoed around the enclosed space. "I'm here to kill the geth," he added in an overly joyous tone. "Commander Shepard, System's Alliance."


	39. Dormant

A/N: Do you guys prefer longer chapters released between long periods of time, or shorter chapters released on a more consistent and frequent basis?

* * *

"That's close enough!"

"Relax, Jeong. They're obviously not geth."

"Shut up, Juliana!" The man turned his head towards Shepard, but only slightly, almost as if he didn't approve of the soldier's presence and so didn't want to look at him. Shepard never particularly liked anyone, but it only took a second for Shepard to know that he hated this man. He wore a well-made corporate uniform, the words _Exo Geni_ stitched in bright colors on its shoulders. John hated those types; they were schemers and liars and cheats who never left anything for the rest.

"Who are you?" Most irritating, however, was the man's pointed, flippant voice.

"Commander Shepard of the System's Alliance."

"What do you want?"

 _What do I want?_ Shepard was taken aback by this question. He was shocked at the sheer ignorance that this man possessed; the ignorance to ask what a soldier was doing here while he, a civilian, sat locked inside a room, barricading against sentient machines of death. Besides, the current situation was not a matter of want. "I'm here to kick the geth out of this colony."

The woman snapped at Jeong. "See, you worry too much."

"And you trust too easily, Juliana," Jeong replied through gritted teeth. John found himself agreeing with that statement, but only begrudgingly, for Jeong was the one who had said it.

"I'm just glad to see a friendly face. I thought we were the only humans left on this planet."

 _That really would make my job easier._ "Some of the members of Zhu's Hope are still alive. Beyond that, I haven't found any others."

Juliana turned to look at Jeong, eyes narrowed, clearly leveling scrutiny. "I thought you said they were all dead."

"No, they live," Tali replied, "Although the geth have devastated their colony." It was difficult to miss the anger in her words, and John for once felt the slightest bit of sympathy.

"I'm glad to hear that they're alive, but those damn synthetics are relentless. It's only a matter of time."

Shepard cracked his knuckles, or at least he attempted to through his gauntlets. "I'll kill them, all of them. But I'm going to need information first."

John's left arm shook in frustration when he heard Jeong's voice again, spewing nonsense. "What kind of information?" The strong emphasis he placed on the word 'kind'… This was why he hated people. Always hiding something, always colluding, always scheming, all so they could benefit. The world would be so much easier if everyone was just straightforward.

"Ignore him," Juliana sighed, "the geth are up in the Exo Geni headquarters, a little bit further down the skyway."

"Those headquarters are private property, soldier. Remove the geth and nothing else." John heard the disgust Jeong used when he said 'soldier'. The irony angered him. This man, he expected John to fight for him, but at the same time, Jeong disliked or maybe even feared John because he was a soldier. _Why do I fight for them? Why not just let them die?_

John was reminded of why. "Commander, before you go," Juliana asked. Her voice was now gripped with terror, "My…my daughter, Lizbeth. She's gone missing." Long ago, he was them; now, he told himself he fought because he loved to kill; but for now, these people could still be people.

"I'll keep an eye out." If he ran into anyone he could save, then it couldn't hurt to bring them back, but he couldn't waste time by going out of his way. "However, my mission comes first."

Jeong, again, sought to intervene. "You shouldn't waste time poking around."

"She's my daughter! I know she's still alive. She was working in the Exo Geni building when the attacks came."

"We can do a proper accounting of our casualties after the geth are gone, Juliana. He shouldn't be running around in there."

A peculiar thought entered John's mind: if he could just reach over and tear this man's tongue out of his throat so he could no longer speak. He did not care that Jeong didn't believe this woman's daughter was alive. No, Jeong was telling him how to do his job so that nothing Jeong was trying to hide would be found. It would be safer to play Jeong's little game, but he was the kind of man who would flip the game-table over in frustration. "What are you hiding, snake?"

"I'm sorry?" Jeong stuttered. "What are you insinuating commander? If there is an issue, you can take it up to corporate after this is all over."

There was no point in trying to argue with a liar, and he'd already had enough of this place. He had nothing left to say to Jeong or the people here. He put his helmet on, and the burnt, smog laden air was replaced by the filtrated air of his helmet: bland, but safer. "Let's get out of here." He turned and started to walk away from Jeong. Tali and Garrus slowly turned away from the humans and followed Shepard.

* * *

"Finished yet, Lieutenant," Wrex demanded.

"Do you have any patience?"

"No. I'm a krogan."

Kaiden shook his head, sighed in frustration, and focused on the task at hand: fixing the pumps for the colony's water supply. It had been a relief to find the pipes intact because if those were broken, there would be no point in trying to fix the pumps. He was in a narrow, dark crawlspace. It was frustrating but it needed to be done.

After fiddling around with the control panel for long enough, it lit up. Then, he carefully read this model's startup instructions on his omnitool. After following the necessary steps and allowing time for the sluggish machine to respond, he began to hear the hum of the motor. A small smile spread across his face. He'd done it again.

He began to carefully crawl out of the tunnel. Only when he reached the exit did he realize how stifling the air was in the tunnel. It was a relief to finally be out of there.

"So, that wraps up the water supply, and we've already dealt with the generator. Are we missing anything else?"

"No, that's everything," Ashley replied.

Wrex just shrugged in agreement; he seemed to not be entirely focused on the task at hand.

"You alright big guy?"

Wrex growled quietly before speaking. "Something smells off."

"Not this again," Ashley complained.

Alenko also disagreed with Wrex, although for different reasons. "We are in a cramped place, Wrex. Probably does smell like crap down here anyway."

"No, human. It smells of…," the pitch of his voice went higher, almost as if he were asking a question, "rotting flesh?"

Alenko looked around the area. A large, central abyss ran down the center of this seemingly infinite room. Metal catwalks occasionally bridged the divide between the two sides. Rays of light from far above speckled into this place. Yet despite the dreary appearance, Kaiden saw nothing with his eyes or scanned anything with his omnitool that would threaten them. "It's probably just a dead animal or something." However, he couldn't just leave it at that. This place did scare the crap out of him, and it was always best to proceed cautiously anyway. "But let me know if you notice anything else. God knows what's down here."

* * *

"Do you have a plan to cross that bridge?" Garrus demanded.

Shepard turned off the truck. No reason to leave it running and give them away. He stepped out of the vehicle and starred at the long journey ahead of them. "We're headed on foot."

"Uhhhh, commander….," Tali stammered, "there are two, maybe three, geth armigers. In addition to the geth ground forces. How are you planning to get us to the other side?"

"Alive," Garrus added. That was the most important part.

"Not sure yet," Shepard admitted, "but I'm certainly not headed out there in that thing." The truck looked so small compared to the sheer size of the room they were in. The protheans who had built this place had clearly put their technological might on display. _But even they were destroyed._

He cleared his head and refocused on the present situation: crossing this bridge. Even if he had the Mako, trying to fight his way to the other side was asking to die. They would be outgunned by the amount of firepower. Besides, that assumed they even had the Mako. Unfortunately, he'd have to use a more subtle strategy this time. He jogged towards one of the walls, where something caught his eye.

He kicked in a large, metal grate. Having been heavily rusted, it basically shattered under the impact, and any remaining pieces broke away as Shepard stumbled through. Musty, dark, and possessing a disgusting shade of yellow-brown like everything else on this damn colony, it was a tunnel. He reckoned it was probably some sort of air or maintenance shaft. It didn't matter now.

"This way!" he waved towards Tali and Garrus.

He didn't bother to wait for them. The tunnel was probably going to be single-file anyway, especially given his size, so there was no reason to wait. If in fact there were any geth in this thing, he'd trample them as best he could. All that mattered was that they were hidden from the geth armigers.

He hurried through the narrow tunnel, shotgun raised in front of him ready to blast anything that appeared. For a time, he was beginning to believe that there wouldn't be any opposition down here, but the geth weren't that dumb. The tunnel had its benefits and drawbacks. The geth would be directly in his line of sight; however, so too would he be directly in the geths' line of sight; when two of the machines finally did appear, he used his biotics to push them off their feet to disorient them. He quickly followed up the move with blasts from his shotgun so the geth would never stand up again.

* * *

"You are not welcome here."

"I'm sorry?"

"You are not welcome here!" the man screeched.

This guy was crazy. Or on drugs. One or the other, or maybe even both. However, they all had their guns raised because none of them were taking any chances. The man was blocking their path, and his posture was threatening.

"Sir, you're lost. If you come with us, we can take you back to the colony up above," Kaiden offered. He lowered his pistol, attempting to show his good faith.

"Down here, it's scary, but…," the man suddenly collapsed onto his knees and howled in pain, his head in his hands. "No! No. No, no, no. I can't leave. You can't leave."

"What?"

"The voices in my head… they're telling me… not to let you pass," he cried. He got up from the floor, one hand still cradling his head, the other pointing directly at the group. "You cannot leave," he whispered.

Monstrous screams and moans echoed from behind the man and up from the cavern below. "You cannot leave!"

From behind the psycho, humanoid forms stumbled out of the darkness. They were covered in deformed masses; viscous, dull-green liquid dripped off their bodies; when they screamed, they bared long, sharp teeth. They were the stuff of nightmares, and they were coming for them.

Kaiden slowly backed away as he shot at the monsters with his pistol. Unfortunately, the creatures were unfazed; when they were hit, they seemed to only momentarily stumble backward before continuing towards him.

To his side, he could hear scratching noises. He quickly glanced over the railing and into the abyss below. More of them were climbing up the walls. "We need to get out of here!" Kaiden said.

"No, I can't let you. I will not be…forgiven!"

He was afraid. Never in his life did he ever think he would be fighting literal zombies. Then again, the existence of the Reapers was probably an even bigger stretch to believe. _Well, at least Shepard sent Wrex with us._

* * *

He could hear the quiet whirring of motors and the mechanical clicks of the geths' voices. They had killed hundreds of colonists on this world alone; they supported the reapers; they were the enemy, and he would end them.

John looked at Tali and silently signaled to her. However, she already knew what he wanted. She returned his silent request with a nod. She was ready and waiting on his signal. He then turned to Garrus, but he too had already completed what Shepard wanted; Garrus held his assault rifle, ready for a fight; they were in a building, so there was no point for sniper rifles. They couldn't see it, but under his helmet, a small smile wavered over his face and then vanished. He didn't believe that he really knew them, but at least they knew him enough to know what he needed on the battlefield. That was their only bond: of war and battle and eventually, one day, death.

Shepard gave the signal and hopped over the concrete railing in front of him. The geth, being the machines that they were, instantly turned to lock onto Shepard's form. He first identified which units were most affected by the hack. They would be saved for last. More immediately, he focused on those units that weren't being so compliant: they would die first. He disabled them with the punishing rounds from his shotgun, up close and personal, just the way he liked it. The way he dodged and fought through the geth ranks was his art, his dance of death. He did it well, but its only reward was the rush of adrenal that it gave during combat, and for better or worse, the pile of bodies left afterward.

He knew he was finished when all the gunfire in the room had ceased. He scanned around himself, looking and listening for anything else that might warrant a shotgun blast to the torso or head. The answer was silence. Breathing heavily, he lowered his weapon, residing to only hold it with one hand for now.

"Shepard!" someone whispered harshly. He turned towards Tali, head perked up, waiting for elaboration.

"There's one more in there." While one hand was preoccupied with holding up her omnitool, her other pointed towards a room on the other side of the complex. He heaved his shotgun upward so he was again holding it with both hands, then marched towards the back room.

When he walked through the door, he froze in his tracks. Like with a t-rex, he hoped that if he didn't move, it wouldn't see him. It was a geth armiger. In that time, he noticed several things. The light in the middle of its head, instead of being brightly lit, was dull and dark. Its limbs sat folded underneath its body, almost as if it were hibernating. _It's asleep._ He had two options, attack or retreat. He'd killed one by hand before; he decided to do it again. He turned towards Garrus and Tali; "wait here." He did not want them to follow him into that room. If it went south, at least they would live.

For such a big man covered in heavy armor, he moved swiftly towards the machine. Despite his speed, he had just enough time to plan out how to kill this thing before he reached it. He scaled it's collapsed body and shoved grenades between its joints and underneath its armor plating. He jumped off, rolled to his feet, and sprinted out of the room. The force of the fireball pushed him out of the room, and for a moment, his feet weren't touching the floor. He landed on all fours and scrambled to regain his footing. He heard the machine roar inside, and it seemed that certain sounds transcended species: surprise. Another explosion rocked the ground beneath them, causing him to stumble and dust to rain down on them.

He turned to Tali. "Is it dead?"

"I can't detect its signature anymore," she replied.

He approached the room to make sure. The walls and floor of its entrance were scarred black by the explosion, and small fires still burned. As the smoke cleared, he saw metal chunks and bits littered about the room; some of the larger pieces he determined were probably the neck and one of the limbs. It was surely dead.

He was now on the ground floor of Exo-Geni's headquarters. It was a wreck; large chunks of the roof were missing in some places, allowing natural light to sprinkle into the room. The geth cruiser lay far above, hanging off the side of the building. He still had yet to come up with a plan to destroy it. If worst came to worst, he could bring down the building, and given the corroded appearance of its foundation, it was certainly a possibility. Two things stopped him. First and foremost, he wanted to get his team out alive; bringing down an ancient skyscraper could very easily kill them and collapse the surrounding area. However, he also wanted to investigate this place; either from being nosy, or out of a childish impulse to piss off the Exo-Geni representative, or because something important lay hidden here. He would find it.

"Any ideas on how to go upstairs?"

"There's a staircase on our left, but that's been blocked off by a shield the geth have set up," Tali informed him.

"Not sure I can get passed that one."

"We could try the basement," Garrus suggested, "probably a back entrance in there."

Shepard decided that this was the best course of action. He walked towards the pit, and standing behind the waist-high stone wall that surrounded it, peered into the darkness. Some small fires smoldered, and it looked dreary as hell, but there was no other option. He turned on the flashlight in his helmet and jumped into the pit.

The sound of him crashing to the ground seemed to stir something in the dark. He heard the echoes of predatory growls and snarls; that ruled out the geth, but what he was hearing didn't make him feel any safer. He walked further down the hallway and into the basement. Something caught his eye, twinkling in the darkness: eyes, reflecting the light from his flashlight.

Garrus and Tali jumped behind him into the pit, albeit landing more gracefully. They too had heard the sounds and rushed to cover his six.

Shepard turned his head so he could better illuminate the creatures. It was a whole pack of…dogs? Saliva, glistening in the light, dripped from their razor-sharp jaws. They sniffed the air and slowly approached his direction. Lean muscle covered their otherwise bony forms. The creatures slowly started to fan out.

"Shepard?" Tali nervously whispered.

"Ya, just um…" He wasn't liking the situation, especially the way in which these dogs were circling them. He derived one simple but gut-wrenching conclusion: these things were hungry, and they wanted to eat him and his team. He'd prefer not to fight them at all, not out of any compassion for the creatures, but because they were dangerous.

If he was alone, he reckoned that he would be just fine. He could use his biotics to keep the creatures off him. However, Garrus and Tali did not possess his gifts. And given that they were surrounded, he couldn't just throw biotic blasts like a maniac for fear of hitting his team.

* * *

Liara heard the sounds of heavy machinery. She looked up into the sky and saw the boom of a large construction crane slowly moving through the air. She began walking towards the crane, curious. A dark-haired human was at the controls, dressed in dirty overalls. The woman directed the boom with the joystick and levers at her control panel with surgical precision, lowering it over a prehab in the distance.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" Liara demanded.

The woman replied without looking at her. "Barricades. We're fortifying," the woman replied. "The colony," she added after a brief pause.

Liara felt like something was…off, with the woman's response. "And who told you to do this?"

"Our leader." The human looked away from her and returned to her task, almost as if Liara was an unimportant nuisance.

* * *

He rolled the massive creature off him. He was covered in sticky blood, and he tried to wipe away the smears on his faceplate obscuring his vision. Until he found a cloth, he would be stuck with a red-tinged view of the world. "Are you guys alright?" he called out.

"We're alright, Shepard," Garrus answered as he approached.

His body was still charged up with adrenaline, but he could feel a faint tingling in his ankle. He guessed that he might have sprained it when he was tackled to the floor by the creature. But he couldn't stop, not now. There were things to kill, people to save, and secrets to uncover; unfortunately, he would have to get to them first. At least for now, he believed that he could walk, although he had yet to put that theory to the test.

With some effort, he sat up. A slender, three-fingered hand appeared in his vision. Still hazy, he was confused by it. When John attempted to stand, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. Before he could decide to sit back down from the pain, the hand reached for his forearm and helped to pull him to his feet. "Thank you," the figure mumbled, still terrified over her near-death experience.

"Not a problem," he replied in a strong and confident voice, trying as best he could to hide the pain of his injury. He took a step, and then another, hoping to walk off the injury. Only time would tell.

He looked down at his armor, inspecting the damage the beast had done when it grabbed onto him with its claws. Structurally, the armor was fine, but cosmetically, three jagged lines of black paint were missing on his right shoulder and left torso. The thick sheets of armor had protected him well against the animal.

He didn't want to demean her, but he doubted Tali would have survived. All it would take was one tear in her suit to kill her. He'd rather intercept the animal than have it maul her.

"Turian, you're a hell of a shot," Shepard complemented. Garrus could have easily shot him instead of the creature, and for that not happening, he was thankful. That round would have hurt, or more probably, killed him.

"I try not to hit the commanding officer. Wouldn't do any good for my pension."

"Didn't think that was part of your benefits."

"No, it isn't. Figure of speech, commander."

John sighed. "There's a reason I'm a soldier and not a poet." He motioned with his head towards the staircase. "Let's get going." Limping slightly, he crossed to the other side of the room and started up the steps. Although the staircase was built wide, crumbling debris cluttered and constricted it. In some corners, small fires remained, clouding the air with smoke. He was getting sick of this world and he'd only been here for less than a day. Everything was the same color: brown-yellow dreariness. It reminded him of home too: everything was in some state of decay and had not been cared for.

He continued climbing the staircase, Tali and Garrus only a couple steps behind him. Each time he reached the level platform that would connect two flights of stairs, he would move swiftly to clear it and then point his shotgun up the next flight. Geth were still here, and whatever else they brought with them. At a certain point, he stopped counting how many levels he'd walked up. However, on one level, he found a mass standing in the corner. At first, he couldn't tell what it was; and then he saw an outstretched arm wielding a metallic object… a pistol. John's assault rifle had already been trained on the target for the entire time. His finger had only been waiting for a reason to pull on the trigger.

A round hit him in the shoulder, although his shields absorbed most of the impact. He planned on returning fire with three concise shots; one to the hand and two headed towards center mass. But then again, the figure only had a low-end pistol by the looks of it. Best to find out who this person was and what they were doing here first; then kill them, if he deemed it so. He rushed the person, disarming them in one swift motion. He then planted an elbow in their torso.

The woman collapsed to the floor, holding her ribcage as she tried to crawl away, crying out in obvious pain. John saw her eyes dart to the pistol she had dropped. He leveled his assault rifle at her in reply. "I wouldn't do that," he snarled sadistically.

"Wha?" the woman choked out.

"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?" The probability of someone having survived here was low; not unless they were in cahoots with the geth, he assumed. He contemplated shooting her; it would be easier and waste less time; after all, she did fire at him.

The woman, frightened and terrified, tried to form words, but they only caught in her throat. Her eyes were wide and fearful. She tried to back away but was stopped when she found her back against the wall. There was no escape. John looked through the scope of his assault rifle and aimed it at her head.

"Lizbeth!" the woman cried, her voice choking up. "My name is Elizabeth! Please don't kill me!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.

"Good, at least we're getting somewhere." Shepard lowered his rifle slightly.

"Lizbeth," Tali mumbled to herself, the name sounding familiar. She stepped forward. "I believe we met your mother, Juliana, back at the colony."

"Yes, yes that's my mother! Please don't kill me!" she begged. The woman looked at Tali as if she were her savior, silently pleading with her eyes.

Shepard lowered his rifle completely. Shooting an unnamed and unknown face was easier, but he'd just met this woman's mother today. He'd at least hear what 'Lizbeth' had to say. "Then you better start explaining yourself. The fuck are you doing here?"

"Everyone was running and I…I stayed to backup data. I don't know what I was thinking," the woman admitted. "The next thing I knew, the geth shipped latched on and the power went out. I tried to get out, but the way was blocked. And the geth were everywhere, and those varen, and mercenaries, and…and..."

"It's alright. We'll get you out of here."

"As soon as," Shepard added with disdain, "we figure out what the geth are after."

The woman gulped nervously. "It's not the geth, it's the energy shield they put up. They don't want anyone else getting access to the…" Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. She didn't know if she should even mention it, lest she be sued into the ground by her employers, or worse.

"Hm. I guess you don't have anything important to tell us. I'll send the other colonists to pick up your body after I'm done with the geth."

"Wait. Wait, please! Take me with you. I'll die if you don't!"

"Well, that's the plan. Unless you want to make yourself useful." Shepard squatted down so he was at eye level with the woman. The commander knew he was psychologically tormenting this woman. In a few short moments, she had been reduced to a crying mess in the corner of a staircase. Thus, he decided that he wasn't going to kill her. However, he needed to find out why the geth were here. More than just the lives of one stupid scientist were on the line, and he was prepared to become…stay… a monster, if that's what it took to stop them. "I need to know everything." After a brief pause, he added: "if I'm going to save this colony." Best make his allegiances clear.

The woman nodded vigorously, indicating that she understood the stakes. "Well, I don't know anything for certain. But they could only be here for t-the Thorian."

"Thorian?" Garrus asked.

"It's an indigenous life-form. Exo-geni was studying it."

 _Indigenous. In-dig-en-ous._ Shepard rolled the word over his tongue but he could not find meaning. "What do you mean by indi-" he paused, trying to pronounce the word correctly, "indigenous?"

"It's natively from this planet. At least we think so. It's forty-thousand years old and the only one we found, so it's hard to tell."

His eyes shifted to the floor, suddenly sad. _Forty-thousand years and I'll die in the next…what?...ten years?_ he mused. The second of silence brought him back to attention. "And why would the geth be interested in the Thorian?"

"Exo-geni was studying it, but they never found anything special." All this destruction for almost nothing. "It's just a stupid plant," she sighed, "I'm not sure why the geth would care this much."

Important or not, it's what the geth were after, and therefore, what he was after. "I need you to take me to it."

"I might be able to, but we need to get passed that energy shield first. It's blocking our exit off." Elizabeth slowly stood up, her hands raised in surrender.

Shepard felt like walking towards the wall and repeatedly smashing his head into it. "And where can I find the shield's generator," he demanded through gritted teeth. He rolled his neck several times, producing sickening cracking and popping sounds.

"I'm not sure-" Elizabeth began.

_What is this woman even sure about? She wanted to die for some data, so is there even a point in saving her?_

"-but the geth have been laying power cables everywhere, all connecting back to their ship. If you want to disable the shield, I'd destroy their ship."

He clenched and unclenched his left fist. _At least that's what I was going to do anyway._ "Then let's get going. Colony on the line, here."

"Where are we going?" Elizabeth asked.

Shepard snorted; he found her fear and confusion amusing. "You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay right here until I return."

Elizabeth's mouth hung agape in shock. "You can't just leave me here! If the geth find me, I'm dead. You promised to take me with you guys."

"You're a civilian. In what universe did you think you're safe following me into battle?" he demanded, full of hubris.

Yet to Elizabeth, it didn't matter that she would be following him. Anything was better than being alone. At this point, she would take the risk because she was certain that her odds were better following this man than waiting for him to come back and rescue her, if he was ever actually going to do that in the first place. If even a single geth found her while she waited for them, she was as good as dead. "I can make myself useful." She reached into her pockets and produced an ID badge. "Here," she offered desperately, "you'll need this to gain access to some of the rooms higher in the tower."

On the ID badge, he saw the woman's picture in a box on the right. Below it, her name: Elizabeth Baynham. He could have just snatched it out of her hands, run away with it, and left her to die. Her mother had asked of him one simple request: return her daughter to her. "Alright," he sighed, "but stay behind me. Otherwise, I can't protect you."

* * *

"I am unable to comply. Please contact your supervisor."

"Tell me what I want or I'll blast your virtual ass into actual dust!"

"I'm unable to comply. Please contact your supervisor."

"Stupid machine!"

"If there is nothing else, please step aside. There is a queue forming behind you for the use of this console."

"What?" The krogan's head tilted to the side, trying to understand the VI's words. What he was requesting really wasn't that complicated, was it?

The VI's words finally clicked. In a flash, the krogan whipped around to face the hallway behind him.

An overly exuberant voice spoke. "Hi!"

In his last seconds, he tried to dodge or reach for his assault rifle, but he knew he was already dead. The shotgun round hit the krogan's crest, pushing it inwards and shattering it. The rounds continued further, turning the krogan's brain into a shower of mush and blood. The body was flung backward by the force of the blast.

"If there is an incident of workplace injury, immediately contact your supervisor."

"Ya? How about the council?" Shepard mocked at the VI.

"I am unable to comply. Please contact your supervisor."

His amusement turned into irony as the VI spit the same answer that it had given the krogan. Best call in someone who could handle this, then. "Elizabeth, how do you work this thing."

The researcher stepped out of the tunnel and behind Shepard. She whimpered silently, trying her best to not scream out loud at the ghastly sight. "It requires identity verification to use." She tried to reach the scanner, but she couldn't from that distance. There was only one way to get closer; she reluctantly stepped on the blood of the deceased krogan, gagging as she pressed her ID to the scanner.

"Welcome back research assistant Elizabeth Baynham. How can I help you?"

She stepped to the side, allowing the commander to speak to the VI. "What was the krogan attempting to access?"

"The previous user was attempting to access records on species 37, the Thorian," its artificial voice replied.

"What records do you have?"

"Accessing records on species 37." The projection paused, both verbally and physically. Before Shepard could complain, it spoke again. It wasn't broken, only searching and loading. "All sensors monitoring the Zhu's Hope colony have been inactive for six solar cycles."

Zhu's hope. The colony he'd first saved on this planet. His suspicion compounded; something important lay in that colony. "Zhu's hope?"

"Species 37 is located beneath the Zhu's Hope outpost."

He began to put together the few pieces that he did have. The geth must be after the Thorian underneath the colony. It was the only thing that would justify the geth bothering to waste so many resources on attacking such a useless place. John now knew that the Thorian was important, but he remained ignorant of why. A thought began to gnaw at the back of his mind: the safety of the members of his team that he'd left at the colony.

John turned to speak to Elizabeth. "This creature certainly was all the rage with Exo-Geni. Is this why the colony was placed on this planet?"

"I'm a low-level assistant, not a corporate executive." She looked at the ground, ashamed. "But at this point, I'm assuming the Thorian was the reason. I just wish I knew why," she mumbled.

Well if she didn't know, maybe the machine could tell him. "VI, what's so special about the Thorian?"

"It's a plant-based lifeform."

"Beyond that."

"Access denied."

"What?" he demanded.

"You do not have proper clearance to access these logs. Security clearance level four required."

John started to laugh maniacally. The answers to all his questions seemed to be locked inside this VI, except it refused to give it to him. He threw his fist at the projection only to hit the rock wall behind it; the strength of the impact jarred his body, and when he removed his hand, chipped pieces of the wall crumbled away. The red hologram, however, remained undamaged. Go figure, it had no solid form, it was simply a projection of light. "I need the answers from this thing," he growled, leveling invisible daggers at Elizabeth.

"We'd need to find someone with such access. Otherwise, it's inaccessible."

"Like who?"

"Head researchers or corporate executives would most likely have access to those restricted files."

"Like Jeong," he muttered with acid. How he wished he'd dragged that man's sorry ass all the way here, like a dog. His mind briefly fantasized forcing Jeong to access the VI, against his will, and having it divulge all his company secrets. But that wasn't possible and would take too much time. He'd have to find another way.

"Tali, can you get into this thing?"

She stepped forward. "I could try, but that would take time. A long time, depending upon how heavily encrypted it is."

It was time Shepard did not have. This colony's problems had only ever multiplied since he got here, not because of anything he had done, but because its problems were hidden deep under the surface. He still had a geth cruiser to take down, which he still had no idea how he was going to do. He could only hope Kaiden's group had completed their mission and that Zhu's Hope was still doing okay with Liara's help, but he couldn't contact them with the cruiser blanketing the area with interference. He needed the information this VI contained too. Nothing was ever easy in his life; however, the benefit was that he had a lifetime of experience dealing with impossibly difficult situations. He made up his mind. "Then I suggest you start working as soon as possible. Garrus, stay with her and help if you can." John turned his head to look at the Exo-Geni researcher. "You can stay with them as well." He was going to toss her his shotgun but decided against handing her such a high-powered weapon. He reached across his back for his assault rifle and set it to burst fire. "If you need to, pull that trigger; three shots per trigger pull. Touch nothing else." He tossed it to her, and she clumsily caught it in a bear hug. Shepard could still see the fear in her eyes. However, he watched some of it dissipate as she felt the weapons weight.

"Commander, where are you going?" Garrus asked. John had an inkling that Garrus already knew the answer and was asking out of shock rather than genuine curiosity.

"I'll deal with the geth. And their cruiser. I'm trusting you to handle this until I get back." Trust was not an easy thing for Shepard; he preferred to do everything himself, or at the very least always be present. He'd given out a lot of 'trust' today, but not because he wanted to; he was forced to give it up by the immensity of the situation. Shepard knew the risks. He'd known them ever since Akuze. Maybe he could have taken Garrus with him to deal with the cruiser. But that would leave Tali and the researcher with a much lower probability of surviving should anything happen. He was cruel and maniacal and sadistic and a lot of other things, but it was getting difficult to be those things around people he'd been working with for several months. Maybe Garrus thought that the commander was being insane or trying to be a hero, but that wasn't it. He was only doing what was necessary.

He left without another word. He didn't need to flaunt himself; he was never about that life.


	40. Picking Up the Pieces

*****IMPORTANT*** A/N: If you just got here, go back to chapter 39 if you haven't already read it. I put two new chapters up today. Decided to break it in two so it would be easier.**

* * *

They were running, near-blind, through the tunnels and hallways beneath Zhu's hope. The monstrous screams still echoed throughout this place, even though they had put considerable distance between themselves and the creatures. The front half of Wrex's armor was slowly being melted off and the pain he was in was probably unimaginable. But he was a krogan. He hated the fact that he was running from a fight, so he didn't call it that; he called it a tactical retreat, and he called it protecting the other soldiers. However he wanted to define it, the situation had been, and still was, grim. He would have stayed and fought, but honestly, the acid was a deal-breaker. His skin tingled; that meant it was probably melting. An enemy that wouldn't die and could strip him of his armor was one to be wary of.

"We'll…block them off… where we entered. Make sure they don't get into the colony," he roared while trying to keep his breath in this stifling place. He stopped at the staircase where they had entered and had his shotgun ready to cover Alenko and Williams as they reached the foot of the stairs.

The humans lunged up the steps three or four at a time, and as they finished clearing one or two flights, they began to wonder why everything was still so dark. Light should have been pouring in by now. "You've got to be fucking kidding me…"

Wrex heard the human's words but had not yet seen what they were upset about. However, when he did arrive, he too did complain; not with words but rather a howl of rage. Collapsed rubble and rock blocked the way up. He slammed into it with his shoulder, trying to get through, but it wouldn't move. They wouldn't be getting out this way, and unfortunately, they knew of no other alternatives to get out.

The shrieks of the creatures got louder and louder. Williams tried to reach Liara over the comms, but it was dead silent; there were several possibilities, but she wasn't sure which was worse: they were deep underground and the signal was being blocked by the rocks, or that Liara too was in some sort of trouble. "Nothing," Williams informed them, shaking her head grimly.

"Then we'll fight here," Wrex shouted defiantly. He had faced worse before. He jumped down a flight of stairs, preparing for the enemy.

To Kaiden's right, he could hear Ashley mumbling words under her breath. Probably a prayer. "Amen."

Well, for all they knew, they were in hell, hearing the screaming souls of the damned; except here, the burns came from acid and not fire. They were already so tired, and his head pounded from having had to use his biotics so frequently.

* * *

He was crouched behind the railing of a second-story walkway, slowly moving his head to peak over the top. The massive claws of the ship bit into the floor of the room, forming deep cracks in the stone. He'd seen the insectoid models of the geth cruisers before, so this was but one of many legs, all connecting back to a massive warship. From his glance, he counted nineteen geth units; this number was mostly composed of basic geth troopers, plus a sprinkling of the less conventional but far more deadly variants. They stood in circles around glowing white orbs on the floor, their 'eyes' dull and lifeless. He had to admit that he'd never seen this before. Geth, calm and weaponless, not firing at him. Yet he was careful not to be too grateful; they could quickly all awaken and try to kill him.

Finally seeing the cruiser, even only small parts of it, forced him to face the question that had been burning inside him from most of the day: how does one person destroy a geth cruiser? He _could_ charge out there, slaughter the units, and then devise a plan. However, that would give the forces inside the cruiser time to prepare and retake this floor.

The only part of the cruiser vulnerable to attack was the claws in front of him. Based on this information, he derived an idea whose only problem was a lack of enough explosives. If these claws were what connected the cruiser to the tower, destroying them would drop the ship before they could prep its engines. Unfortunately, he had no rocket launchers or high-explosives, and possessed only 3 grenades. If he wanted to destroy the claws, he'd have to take a closer look and… _and then what?_ Hack the claw? Out of his realm of ability. Destroy the claw by hand? Not possible because he wouldn't know what parts to go for. He was yet again confronted with his uselessness as a person. People were counting on him, and his team trusted him, to save their lives, except he didn't know how. He hated it. He hated his life.

The commander hopped over the railing and down to the first-story floor, landing on both feet with a loud thud. He first used his biotics to hurl the geth closest to a large opening in the wall out into the sky. The machines would be turning on any second now. He put two shotgun blasts into the geth destroyer near him. The machine toppled over into its brethren, resulting in a domino effect that knocked down each geth in the circle. Curious, Shepard turned to his right, lunged towards another unit, and brought his fist down on the geth's neck. Like the former group, these geth too toppled over like dominos. They weren't awake; they were sleeping. That made his job a lot easier. He walked around the circle, discharging his shotgun every time he was in line with a geth. He wasted no time proceeding with the execution of the geth in the other circle.

He was left scratching his head as to why the geth never rose up to defend themselves. Even if they were 'asleep', which sounded contradictory for a machine, they would still be conscious on some level. It reminded him of the asleep armiger he had found on the ground floor of this tower. Then, he remembered something Tali had told him months ago when she had spoken to him about the geth: their minds were independent of their bodies. These geth weren't asleep, they just simply weren't home.

Enemies dead, he now had the entire floor to himself. With nothing better to do, he decided to search around and maybe find something that could help him. He crossed the complex, noting several thick cables snaking across the floor. An office lay at the back, and Shepard walked inside. To his right was a simple desk made of cheap plastic and aluminum. Behind it, seated in a swivel chair, was a deceased man. The face was bloated, and its skin was sickly blue-green; it was clearly in the early stages of decomposition. A bloodied exit and entrance wound were visible on the sides of his head, indicating the cause of death. While this man had died from a gunshot, Shepard had a hunch about who had fired the round. He simply couldn't help himself and walked around the desk so he could see the man's hands. They dangled off to either side, and clutched in a stiff right hand, was a pistol.

Shepard activated the dormant computer display. A recording appeared on the screen. It was just taunting him at this point, so he pressed play.

The man appeared on screen, but very much alive. "I won't let these bastards take me," he whispered, terrified. By the looks of the jostling recording, the room began to shake violently, and Shepard could hear the roaring of thrusters in the background. The man burst into tears, crying like a little child. The digitized hums and clicks of the voice of the geth could now be heard, getting closer and closer. He reached for a drawer in his desk and pulled something out. A pistol appeared on the screen, held in the man's right hand, just as it had been in death. "I won't let them," he silently cried. The man closed his eyes, and then the recording ended.

The commander could care less for the recording of the suicide. What he did care for was the documents on the computer. Exo-Geni corporate secrets, financials, the possibilities were endless. He wanted to find anything while he was here that would incriminate them. He rolled the chair with the dead body out of the way and started rummaging through the drawers, yielding two OSDs and a credit chit. He then snatched the computer's hard drive. Holding up his findings in front of him, he figured Tali could crack the drives later. He stuffed them into a small pocket on his belt.

He glanced again at the dead body and realized that he'd been stalling, trying to distract himself from his real task. He turned to exit the office and approached the claw. He stomped on one with his boot, almost as if testing its durability. Dark purple armor plates covered its top, almost decoratively. The gaps in-between these plates revealed the gray, industrial metal beneath. Thick tubes and cables the size of his forearm extended from the geth ship and into the room, resting on the floor. He guessed that these were the power cables that Elizabeth had told him about. He could just try and disconnect them to turn off the shield generator, but there could be so many more than just the ones in this room. Besides, these were geth, they deserved to be destroyed.

The geth were smart in their design. The claw itself was well protected and most likely impervious to damage. He'd need to find a structural weakness somewhere along its arm, a place where three grenades or a small broken component could do enough damage to break it. He stowed his shotgun on his back. He wouldn't be needing it. Hopefully. Approaching the edge of the window, he looked out at the sky in front of him and then at the long, long drop below. He was terrified.

* * *

She skimmed the files extracted from the VI; they were documents stored on Exo-Geni's internal systems. They weren't everything, but they were enough to make her feel like vomiting in disgust. It started with the strange facts that they already knew: the Thorian was a massive plant under the Zhu's Hope colony. Then she read that it was sentient and very much capable of thought. Then, things started getting creepy. She started reading a research report titled: 'A novel mechanism for compliance: dispersion of airborne Thorian spores are a slow but effective means for population compliance.' She skipped to the conclusion of the report, trying to find anything of importance that could help Shepard.

Tali read it out loud. " _The Zhu's Hope experimental group has yielded statistically significant results (p.01). After three days of exposure, fifteen percent of all test subjects were infected; at ten days, fifty-seven percent of all test subjects were infected; at the conclusion of the experimental trial, ninety percent of all test subjects were infected by spores originating from the Thorian (N = 856). While slow, infection via spores has yielded no noticeable early symptoms in subjects, which may increase transmission via human-to-human contact with unsuspecting carriers. However, this concept requires future study and a larger sample size to confirm; moreover, the rare development of severe side-effects may cloud this model."_

She looked up from her omnitool and at Elizabeth Baynham. "Did you know?"

"Know about what? This?"

"Yes, this! Did you know about the experiments on the colonists?" Tali demanded.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "Well, I knew that there were experiments but I…I wasn't sure what they were researching. I heard rumors but I… I didn't believe them. I worked on the spores collected from the Thorian, not the colonists."

Garrus, who had been guarding the entrances to the room, heard the report too. "So as long as it wasn't you being experimented on, you didn't care enough to investigate?"

"I just follow directions and kept my head down," she cried, "I wasn't trying to hurt anyone, and I didn't know anyone was getting hurt. You have to believe me!"

Tali wasn't sure what to believe. Maybe this woman was telling the truth, maybe she didn't know anything. However, all Elizabeth had in her defense was her own testimony. But then Tali remembered that she wasn't the one who had to decide to trust or not to trust, it would be Commander Shepard. It would be his burden, not hers, and for that she was thankful. Yet with commander Shepard, she knew what Elizabeth's end would probably be. If Shepard ever did return from his suicide run, this woman would most likely die soon after. "That's not for me to decide," Tali added glumly. She closed her omnitool, strode over to Elizabeth, and took away the assault rifle that had been resting at the scientist's feet. She preferred not to take any chances because frankly, she wasn't sure what to believe or do anymore.

* * *

He heard the shrieks and groans of warping metal. The tall building swayed to the left and then snapped to the right again, and then a little bit to the left again, centering itself after being released from its lopsided burden. Garrus shook his head in disbelief and quietly chuckled. It would seem that Shepard did indeed find a way to bring down the geth cruiser. He started counting silently to himself, curious about how long the cruiser would drop for. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven… He heard a thunderous impact, although at this height above the ground it was rather muted. A more audible explosion followed, shaking the building beneath them.

Garrus tested the comms. "Shepard, you still alive?" Unless that impact was something else, the destruction of the geth cruiser meant that their comms would be online again.

For a couple of seconds, he heard nothing back. He started to worry, but then Shepard finally decided to respond. "That was fun to watch."

"I'm assuming you're talking about the cruiser?"

"Yep. You should have been on the top floor," he laughed, "Swear I thought I was going to be catapulted out of the building, but you know that there is nothing like a good adrenaline rush. I kinda wish I could have watched that thing crash from up close. Would have been awesome."

Garrus wasn't sure if Shepard was serious or joking, but either way, the commander seemed rather merry about his capacity to destroy. Garrus hated to be the one to ruin the rarity of a happy, even youthful sounding, commander, but there was no other alternative. "Commander, listen. Tali found some information on the Thorian. Troubling information." Another moment of silence as Garrus waited for a response.

"Copy that. I'll be down there immediately. In the meantime, see if you can establish communications with those back at Zhu's Hope. We need to inform them of the situation." The voice of John he had heard but a moment ago was gone, replaced by the joyless and stern voice of the commander.

* * *

His boots echoed loudly as he quickly walked down the hallway and back into the room. The terminal that had projected the VI was still there, but its guts were spilled out all across the floor. He entered the room and removed his helmet, desiring some fresh air even though it may very well be harmful.

"What's the problem now?" he asked without missing a beat. The question sounded like he expected nothing to go wrong and was now surprised that something had. However, that could not have been any farther from the truth.

The researcher from before stood in the corner, her hands clasped together, nervously swaying from side to side. Tali took a step towards him and handed back his assault rifle. _Oh…_

Now holding his shotgun in one hand and his assault rifle in the other, he pointed both weapons at Elizabeth in a show of force; it wouldn't be very accurate, but all he would need was one bullet. Maybe it was something he should have done from the start. The woman silently whimpered, too afraid to speak as she stared straight into the face of death.

"She try to kill you guys?" he demanded. He was silently ridiculing himself for having bothered to give the scientist his weapon; if she had hurt Garrus or Tali, their blood would be on his hands.

"No, she didn't. I don't think she's a threat. Not to us, at least," Garrus explained. "It's about the Thorian and what Exo-Geni's been doing with it."

"The Thorian under Zhu's Hope is more than just an old plant. It releases spores capable of controlling those it infects. Exo Geni's been studying the properties of the Thorian on the colonists the entire time." Tali paced around the room as she explained, looking down at her omnitool and the data-reports she was still sifting through, lost in her technical and scientific frenzy. "They'd conduct medical exams under the guise of helping the colonists, but all they wanted to do was study them and draw samples. The colonists suffered panic-attacks, bouts of aggression or violence, insanity, schizophrenia, paranoia…"

Shepard's hands started to shake in anger. He'd left soldiers there; he'd sent them into the tunnels to clear out the geth, the very same tunnels that were apparently occupied by a mind-controlling plant. "Garrus, were you able to get into contact with T'Soni or Alenko? The colonists?"

Garrus shook his head in defeat. "No, commander. Although it's possible the geth have another signal jammer installed somewhere else, or that-"

Shepard gritted his teeth. "Garrus, you don't need to sugar-coat it." He returned his attention to the scientist. "You lied to me. I should kill you," he said. His voice carried no emotion, no fear or regret.

He could kill her and leave her corpse to rot like so many others. Just another body, like the man upstairs. His weapons were already pointed at her; all he needed to do was pull the trigger to kill her. He'd done it before, he could do it again. He wondered if this colony was worth saving at all if they couldn't help but experiment on themselves. Was anything worth saving? Maybe he should have just left the geth alone; they would have wiped out the rot and filth. It was clear to him that every single person was flawed and evil and narcissistic and complicated. "What was your role in all this?"

"I'm a biochemist. Yes, I admit it, I did work on the spores," she cried, "but I never exposed the colonists to it. I worked on neutralizing agents."

"Neutralizing agents?" Shepard asked in confusion, "what the fuck were you planning to do, turn it into a bio-weapon?" He did not believe that anything was out of the realm of possibility with these people.

"No no no no no," Elizabeth mumbled, "you don't understand. They wanted a way to counter the spores so they wouldn't get infected while out in the field."

Shepard's shoulders rose and fell as he let loose a round of psychotic laugher. He hated it when people hid their true intentions behind wordplay. "Oh, so you're an enabler?"

"Yes, I mean no, but… Look, I know I made mistakes, but who doesn't? There were non-disclosure agreements I had to sign, contracts I couldn't break, and company property was tightly controlled. Who was I supposed to go to? What was I supposed to do? I wanted to stop the tests, but they threatened me, told me I'd be next! I just kept my head down and didn't ask questions. Just like everyone else."

"Yes, yes of course!" Shepard yelled, "Keep doing your shit until you couldn't control it anymore! And then I'm stuck putting my neck on the line and sending my troops to die! For people like you!" He tossed his guns to the side and marched up towards her. He didn't need them. "I'm going to tear you to pieces," he menacingly declared while smashing his fist into the wall next to her head, "and if the people who you infected are behind what happened to my men, I won't spare them any courtesy either!"

"Wait!" she cried, and Shepard could have sworn it was for the millionth time. "You don't need to hurt the colonists. If they are infected, there's…there's a way to disable them without killing them."

"And what way would that be," Shepard venomously demanded. He was unsure why he even cared to pause and ask. He'd killed before, and he'd killed innocents before; he wouldn't let civilians harm his troops. If the colonists were a threat, he would kill them. Yet a small part of him would never forgive himself; the people of Zhu's Hope were ignorant to all this crap; if he killed them, they'd pay the price for corporate incompetence. It couldn't hurt to ask. If this woman was lying, it would only buy her a few seconds of life before Shepard turned her head into a bloody pulp with his bare hands.

"My research. The neutralizing agent. It has protective properties against the spores."

"I already know that!" Shepard roared.

"However, it can-n also temporarily i-interfere with the spores ab-ab-ability to control its host," she stammered. She reached into her pocket, producing an OSD. "It's what I stayed to backup."

"You're a very bad bargainer, Ms. Baynham," Shepard taunted. "Can you make it?"

"Excuse me?" she desperately cried.

"Can. You. Produce. It?!" he asked again more forcefully, enunciating each word.

* * *

The truck stopped. They were back at the secondary colony they had found. Shepard was here for two reasons.

He hopped out of the truck and boldly strode towards the entrance of the colony. The guards let him through, and in the center of the room stood Jeong.

"Commander, it's good to see you survived your mission."

However, Jeong was anything other than happy to see that Shepard survived. "Fuck you," Shepard snarled.

"I found some interesting facts about you in the Exo-Geni database. Your heroics aren't needed here."

"You're right. They're not." Shepard aimed his shotgun at Jeong's head. Still, the arrogant human did not believe that the commander had the balls to discharge his weapon.

"You know I was hoping that the geth would take care of-"

Unfortunately, he never got to finish his sentence. Jeong's skull, face, and brain-matter sprayed outward in a shower of red goop.

The commander heard screams and then the sounds of numerous weapons being readied and trained at him. He looked around, eyeing his adversaries. "Drop your weapons and I'll give you the courtesy of allowing Colonial Affairs to deal with your asses." Spoken in a perfectly calm and collected voice from a man who had just committed murder, his words were terrifying. He watched indecision and fear spread among them. He knew the look in their eyes: they were about to give up. All they needed was a little more motivation. "Now!" he demanded.

One by one, their weapons slowly dropped to the floor. They backed away from him, afraid. _Good, they should be._ He wished that he had the time to kill everyone involved; he would gladly do it. However, he had more important things to attend to, people worth saving more than these assholes.

The commander looked through the crowd that stood in stunned silence. He found who he was looking for. Her eyes stared at him; she was terrified like everyone else. "Garrus, you can send her in now," he mumbled into the comms.

"And clean this shit up!" He kicked Jeong's dead, bleeding body for added effect. He turned away from the scene and walked up the ramp to this place's exit. On his way out, Juliana sprinted past him, back into the colony. He heard her horrified screams; she probably saw Jeong's body. That scene could have so easily been her, and she probably knew that. The difference was that Jeong was in charge, the person who he decided should shoulder the majority of the blame; at least for now.

He got back behind the wheel of the truck. It was time to end this shit and for this day to be over.

* * *

"Commander, I'm getting a garbled transmission from near the colony."

"From who? Saying what?"

"The signal is from… Liara", Tali replied, breathing a sigh of relief, "but I'm having trouble understanding her."

"Understood." So, they weren't all dead. Hopefully, none of them were and he was overreacting.

Within another couple minutes, the trio reached the place where they had started their journey: the decrepit garage. Shepard hastily jumped out and ran to the back to grab the gas canisters. He clipped as many as he could onto his belt, but he felt that it was still too few; if he ran out, he might end up killing colonists. He was willing to accept that burden if it meant he could find the rest of his team.

"Any word from Liara yet?"

Tali shook her head.

"And the others?"

"No…" she stammered, finding it difficult to speak.

Shepard sighed loudly and his displeasure was visible. It was now or never. "Our first job is to secure the colony and deal," he chose to use that word over eliminate, "any hostiles, whether it's the geth again or the colonists themselves." In his past, maybe he would have just killed them all; he still was capable of that; the canisters that hung on his belt, if they worked, were the only reason he wasn't attempting more lethal means. However, he wasn't blind. "I want to make something clear. If you feel that your life is in danger, you can use lethal force, and without my permission." His team grimly nodded. Whatever the cost, Shepard knew he had to save his crew and then get to the Thorian. "Then let's go."

* * *

They found Liara in one of the many passageways underneath and around Zhu's Hope. She was clutching a wound over her abdomen, surrounded by small trails of dried purple blood. Tali immediately fell to her knees and tried to apply medigel to Liara's wounds.

She was injured but lives were depending on him. He had to ask. He lowered himself so he was at eye-level with Liara. "What happened?"

"The…colonists…started attacking out of nowhere." She gasped as the antiseptic properties of the medigel took effect, leaving her with a burning sensation. "They closed off the entrance that Alenko's team used to enter the tunnels. I don't know what happened to them."

If the lives of his soldiers weren't on the line, he would have found the irony funny. Those he was supposed to protect, the colonists, were now the people who he was supposed to stop. It was an inversion that added even more intricacies to an already complex situation.

"Shepard, I'm sorry. I couldn't stop them."

"There was nothing else you could have done other than died. There is nothing to be sorry for," he said simply. He did not blame Liara. If he should blame anyone, it was himself for not seeing the whole situation, and Exo-Geni for having tried to bury a horrendous truth. Nonetheless, there would be time to beat himself up over this later. "Can you walk?" he asked. He knew that Liara was injured, but leaving someone to protect her or leaving Liara alone both created risks, risks that could be avoided if Liara was capable of walking.

Tali slowly helped her to her feet. "Yes, I think so," she managed to say with some effort. He then proceeded without a word, onward towards the colony.

* * *

The threat posed by the colonists was not individual, but collective. Like a single hornet, one alone could not hurt you. But together, in large enough numbers, they could certainly do some damage, especially when the crew of the _Normandy_ weren't allowed, or at least weren't willing to, fire back.

Fighting the colonists in the tunnels that led to the colony was rather easy. Shepard could use his biotics to deflect oncoming fire until they overran the colonist's position. Disable them, expose them to some of the Thorian anti-agent, and then rinse and repeat. Their lives weren't in enough danger to warrant Shepard trying to kill someone; yet. However, Shepard was still more than willing to use his fists as clubs, among other various means of hand-to-hand combat. There was blood, broken bones, knocked out teeth, bruises, and more.

The crew knew that Shepard loved to use melee combat from time to time, yet that was usually in conjunction with his shotgun. Without the weapon, they got to truly see the commander's hand-to-hand skills. Although 'skills' was a relative word; no doubt, he was brutally effective and destructive. However, his proficiency came more from shear strength and size than skill. His form was unrefined and rash.

Outside of the tunnels posed more of a challenge. The enemy was no longer directly in front of them, but rather spread out and hiding throughout the colony. They had to proceed cautiously if they did not want to get injured or worse.

* * *

It was just two. Two people, guarding the crane. A mother, wielding a pistol, and a child holding on tightly to a crowbar. Shepard had already hurt a lot of people; today, and before today. He walked up to and disarmed them both. Garrus tossed another gas canister, one of the few remaining ones they had. The mother collapsed to the ground. Shepard caught the child by the arm before he could fall and get hurt, tenderly laying him on the floor.

Then it was done. The colonists were incapacitated and no longer a threat, and if what Elizabeth had told him was right, the Thorian would no longer have control over them. They would wake up injured, hurt, and confused as fuck, and it was all Shepard's fault; however, it was better than dead.

He got onto the crane's control platform and looked out over the colony from his elevated position. The sun had long ago set, leaving the colony in darkness. The only light was from the scattered lamps that were still powered, or the fires left from destruction. He turned to his right. In front of him was the tunnel he'd sent Kaiden's team into; the deepest and darkest ones, where the geth scuttled like little bugs along with whatever other monsters lay in the dark. He stared at it, and the rubble stared back at him. He felt guilty. If he'd known, he would have gone down there and done it himself. But he couldn't because he couldn't be in three places at the same time. He still had the Thorian to deal with, and objectively he knew it was his biggest priority. But he just had to know.

* * *

"Can anyone read me?" They heard a fuzzy, unclear voice. It was probably being distorted by the structure around them, but that didn't matter. It was a voice, and it meant hope. They were desperate to get out of here. The darkness, even only for a couple of hours, had taken its toll. And after the things they had found in the darkness, every sound put them on edge; thus, they were in a constant state of anxiety and fear. They were cut, bruised, and bleeding. No, they weren't running. They'd completed their mission. They just wanted to get the fuck out of here before more of those things came and ate them alive.

"Yes!"

"Commander Shepard, can anyone read me?"

A bolt of fear struck Kaiden in the hurt. The commander hadn't heard him. Either his omnitool was broken, or they were truly doomed. "Shepard. Shepard!" he screamed into the comms. This attempt seemed to work.

"I hear you. Are you guys alive?"

"Yes, yes we're still hanging on. How're things up there?"

"Everything is fi-…we're alive. Are you in danger?"

"Not immediately, but we need to get out of here. We're not doing so well." Kaiden looked at his arm. He had a deep gash along it where one of the monsters had sliced clean through his armor like butter. The bleeding had stopped and dried, but it hurt like a bitch. If he had any medigel left, he would have used it, but they'd given most of it to Wrex. He needed it far more than they did.

"Understood. We'll get you out of there."

"We couldn't get out, Shepard. The entrance was blown to bits," Ashley explained.

"Ya, I'm staring at the building. Or what's left of it, anyway. Once I get my hands on some more explosives, I'll blow a hole straight to you guys. Sit tight."

 _As if we're doing anything else,_ Alenko thought pessimistically. "Shepard, you need to be careful."

"I know, I'll try not to bring the rest of the tower down on you."

That comment, in and of itself, did not serve to reassure Kaiden. Nevertheless, he had to warn the commander. "Shepard, there are things down here, Things I've never seen. You need to be careful. They're dangerous."

Kaiden waited for the commander to reply with an arrogant remark, boasting about his ability to kill, and he got what he expected. "I'll tear them, or anything else that gets in my way, to shreds."

"Shepard, you're going to get yourself-"

"What, killed? Over my dead body," Shepard said humorously. And then more seriously, "I'm coming for you guys," he reassured.

Kaiden had flashbacks of the first time he was under Shepard's command on Eden Prime. Ruthless and deadly were the words that came to mind. And when Jenkin's died, Shepard did not care; the man was soulless. The tone of his voice seemed rather paternal for a soulless man.

* * *

"Get to the Normandy, immediately," Shepard ordered.

"No, I don't run, I fight," Wrex argued.

Shepard passed off the limping Krogan to Kaiden. _Chakwas is going to have her hands full_. "Wrex, you'll have more battles the next time. You don't need to die today."

Kaiden sagged under the Krogan's weight; Shepard knew that the Lieutenant was injured, but he could walk, and thus carry Wrex back. Liara, too, would be headed back to the _Normandy_. No longer was there a threat to their ship because the geth were gone. Yet the three still left reluctantly, Wrex mostly because he had the ego of a krogan, and Kaiden and Liara because they could still fight, despite their injuries.

The dark sky hung over them like a heavy weight on their shoulders. The day was long, but their mission was still not over. Now he had to explain everything to the odd man out: Ashley Williams. She'd been the only one to get out of the tunnels relatively unscathed and so would stay with Shepard's team. Someone carrying more firepower was always welcome.

"Tali, if you can figure out how to operate the crane, uncover the entrance to the Thorian." She went about her task without another word, scaling up the massive machine and onto its control platform.

Shepard returned his attention to Williams. "I owe you an explanation for why we're still here and why all the colonists are knocked out." He'd probably sound like a crazy man, but it was the truth. He would inform Kaiden and Wrex later.

"Ya, I guess it could be useful." He heard fear in her voice, probably over the fate of the colonists.

This entire mission he'd barely had a moment to catch his breath; time was the last thing on his mind. Shepard turned away from Ashley and slowly scanned the rubble of the colony. "The geth weren't here because they wanted to attack some colonists. They were after something called the Thorian."

"Thorian? The hell is that?"

Shepard was going to explain, but when Garrus entered the conversation, he permitted the turian to speak. He could probably do a better job of describing all the scientific jargon than John ever could. "Underneath us is a very old lifeform: a plant called the Thorian. It uses spores to infect other organisms, which it subsequently uses to gain control over its host."

Shepard turned to face Ashley again. He watched the soldier's gears turn, trying to piece everything together for herself. "So then the colonists were… enslaved. Is that what happened?"

The motor of the crane began to hum, forcing Shepard to speak a little louder. "From what I can tell, they turned hostile on us to protect the Thorian. I had to deal with them to get back in here."

Ashley's face contorted into horror at that statement.

"Don't worry, they're not dead, just asleep."

"Pretty sure it's from the punches and not the gas, but whatever you say, Commander," Garrus taunted, not even bother to look up from messing around with his rifle.

Shepard gave Garrus a death stare, indicating that he should shut up. "You know, next time I think I'll have your ungrateful ass tank the bullets."

The turian held his arms up in surrender, but the smug smile plastered on his face meant that the turian didn't give two shits.

"Anyway," he returned his attention back to Ashley, "since the geth were here for the Thorian, I thought we might want to pay it a visit."

"You think Saren was involved?" Ashley asked darkly. It was apparent that she still had a tooth to pick with the rogue spectre.

Shepard nodded in reply. "I'm sure he is. That's why we need to go down there and find out what Saren was after."

"And see if we can get the Thorian to release the colonists," Garrus added.

Shepard pointed a finger at the turian. "That too." Yes, the colonists were important to save. They had done nothing wrong and were brutally experimented on. But Shepard was immensely interested in the crumbs Saren had left behind.

* * *

"What the fuck is that thing?" Williams whispered harshly.

Shepard shinned a light on the figure in an attempt to more accurately appraise its features. A massive, disgusting ball of flesh hung suspended in the center of the room. Thick arms extended out from its core, anchoring it to the walls. It's 'front', if you could call it that, had almost an animal-like appearance. Two gouges lined either side of its 'face.' Several tentacles extended down from what should have been a mouth.

"I'm guessing that is the Thorian," Tali answered back, "it has to be."

It looked nothing like a plant. He wondered why the scientists had called it as such, but could he criticize them if this creature looked like nothing he'd ever seen before? "Well, this is going to be…messy."

Shepard shuffled forward, slowly approaching the plant. Runny, yellowish goo fell from its tentacles. The creature began to breathe deeply, slowly at first, but the pace of its hoarse inhalations gradually began to increase; the body began to rise and fall with each breath. The tentacles parted, and a body dropped to the floor. Shepard realized that the creature had not been breathing, but rather birthing. Something.

He approached the form. It lay in a fetal position on the floor, near the edge of a circular pit. "Shepard, I would be-"

The figure jumped into the air, back-kicking Shepard in the helmet and sending him stumbling backward, off-balance. However, before he could take more than two steps back or regain his footing, he was kicked in the gut with immense force, sending him flying backward.

Garrus, Tali, and Ashley dodged the commander's body as it sailed through the air and into the stone wall behind them. They all heard a sickening crack, but they couldn't tell if it was from the wall, his armor, or from his bones. The commander collapsed to the floor and fell to rest on his side.

"Shepard?" Williams called back. There was no reply from the man.

Ashley shone a light in the figure's direction, in addition to her assault rifle, trying to illuminate the shadowy person. It was an asari with green skin, something they had never seen before. The alien watched the crew of the _Normandy_ through narrow, judgmental eyes, exactly like how a predator would before going in for the kill. The lithe asari bounced on her toes like a dancer, her arms raised and ready for a fight. Normally, Ashley would have no fear of fighting someone so flimsy, especially someone who possessed no weapons. Yet after how she had so easily knocked out Shepard, she was beginning to reassess the situation.

"Tali, check on Shepard". Even though Ashley attempted to speak with an air of authority, her voice quivered with fear.


	41. Overload

"Who are you?" Garrus demanded, his raspy voice loud and aggressive.

"I speak for the old growth, as I did for Saren before."

_So, the rogue spectre was here._ "Why?"

"Saren sought knowledge from those of the previous cycle. Trades were made. Then, the metal-men killed the flesh that would tend for the next cycle. The Thorian sees the very air you push with your breath as lies."

Ashley made eye contact with Garrus. A silent conversation carried between them about what they should do next. "We hunt Saren. Give us what you gave him, and we will avenge your betrayal."

"No more will the Thorian listen to these lies!" the asari declared.

Screams and howls began to echo from the pit. Ashley knew those sounds well; she had heard them only hours ago. The first creature emerged. A tumorous mass was growing on its shoulder; in some spots, the dark, rotten flesh gave way to blackened bones. This creature could be nothing else but the foot soldier of the Thorian. Another arose from the pit, it too in an equally decrepit condition. It began to charge forward, clawed hands extending outward in front of its body.

Garrus shot at the creature several times and it collapsed back into the pit. If it was just one or two of them, Ashley wouldn't have been worried. But these things traveled in packs of formidable numbers. Surely there would be more. The creature roared as it fell into oblivion, and the thunderous screams of reply confirmed Ashley's suspicions.

Yet what scared her the most weren't the thralls of the Thorian, but rather the asari who had managed to disable Shepard with two kicks. "Tali, what's his condition?"

"I think he hit his head," Tali called back.

"How bad?"

"Really bad." By bad, she meant that there was a decent dent in the wall behind him.

"Great…" Head injuries were always the most dangerous. Depending on their angle, you'd either walk away with a minor concussion or split your head open like a cantaloupe.

More zombies rose out of the pit and assembled next to the asari. Garrus and Williams cut through their ranks with assault rifle fire, but more took their place, with some now flooding in from side passages around the complex. The thralls began to surge forward, propelled by their animosity.

Williams and Garrus kept the creatures at bay, spraying assault rifle fire into the horde. However, each one they killed was replaced by three more. The creatures continued to march forward, and the soldiers gradually found themselves retreating towards the stairwell they had entered.

One of the creatures spat acid at her and she dodged hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the stream of green goo. However, she lost her balance and fell to the floor. She attempted to get back up but spotted one of the zombies attacking her right flank; unfortunately, it was much too close for her liking. Before she could react, a shotgun blast sent it flying backward. Ashley turned her head behind her and saw Tali. It was clear to Ashley that the enemies didn't need to be geth for the quarian to do some serious damage.

* * *

He felt drowsy, like he hadn't slept in a million years. He tried to pick up his head but found the effort too difficult. The first thing he noticed was the dull ringing in his ears. At first, his body felt numb, as if his skin could not feel anything. However, his sense gradually began to return, first to his hands and then to the rest of his body. He flexed his hands and wiggled his toes; he realized that he was inside of something hard and stiff, not soft. He wasn't in a bed or covered in a blanket. And whatever he was in was far too warm to be the cold metal floor of his cabin on the Normandy. His sluggish subconscious realized that he was sleeping, but probably not in a place that he should be sleeping in.

His eyes shot open to see… black nothingness. He brought his hands to rub his eyes but was blocked off by his helmet. His body told him that he was in grave danger; he could feel himself sweating and the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He sat up against the wall behind him and blindly groped the floor for his shotgun. Not able to find it, he got more nervous and decided to call for help. His mouth moved but he barely heard his own words through the ringing. Now, he was starting to get truly afraid.

With each beat of his heart, he felt as if a jackhammer was striking his head. He slowly put together everything around him, whether it be what he could, or could not, experience. He probably hit his head. If he hadn't known that before, the immense pain that emanated from the back of his skull was certainly doing the trick.

Yet his realization only put him in more of a panic. He'd only have hit his head if he was in a fight. He could very well still be in danger and he was sitting here like a duck. He reached for his sidearm, using muscle memory to find and retrieve it. He grasped it tightly and held it close to his body. His only problem was that he did not know where to point it.

Dull spots started to fill his vision, gray specs of light contrasting against the blackness. Shepard began to remember who he was and why he was here. The last thing he remembered was… _the Thorian._ He attempted to stand, leaning heavily against the wall, both for support and as an anchor of his position. The specs began to coalesce into amorphous blobs and brown, splotchy figures. It was vision, but it was hazy and exacerbated by the lack of lighting. The only problem was telling who was friend and who was foe. Three blobs stood immediately in front of him, almost in a triangular formation. Ahead of them, all he could see was a sea of moving blobs, all meshing and mixing together. Some patches shone more brightly than others, probably from being illuminated by light.

He wouldn't be able to hear their reply, but he had to try. "Guys? Help?"

The figures rushed towards him. He felt something grab onto his wrist and start dragging him.

* * *

For a plant, it could scream much louder than it should. And when the whole world sounded like a giant fishbowl, the Thorian's dying roar hurt his ears a great deal. However, in the resulting silence and almost pristine calm of the aftermath, he would gladly take the discomfort for the feeling of victory. A small part of him asked whether the damage would be permanent, but what was done was done. For now, the crumpled asari at their feet was much more interesting. Except this time, he would not make the same mistake. He kept his distance and aimed his pistol through his still hazy vision.

The figure moved to rise. "Thank you for freeing me from-"

He shot her kneecaps before she could finish; he no longer had control of his biotics, and besides, it hadn't saved him last time. He would make this quick. An interrogation followed by a swift execution.

* * *

His eyes snapped open, staring into bright white lights. They watered as he willed them to stay open, making his vision even more blurry than it already was; safety came first, then comfort. He sat up, and blood rushed out of his head, commencing a pounding headache. He could tell he was in some sort of room. A figure sat in a chair at the end, but he couldn't tell who. He began to reach for his sidearm as he jumped off the platform where he was lying. Yet both actions failed. Where his sidearm should have been, he only felt soft cloth; and instead of charging the figure, his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor.

"Commander Shepard, you're on the Normandy," spoke a feminine voice. It felt familiar, but in his grogginess, he could not name it. "There's no one trying to kill you but yourself."

_Dr. Chakwas,_ he finally realized. "Where am I?" he asked in his confusion, even though he had his suspicions.

"In the medical bay."

He looked towards the doctor, or at least what was supposed to be the doctor. It was hard to tell. She approached him and crossed her arms. "You've made a mess of everything."

"What do you mean?"

She reached towards his arm. "I'm going to have to redo all of this again," she cursed.

"Redo what?"

She gently removed the needles that had been half-torn from their place on his arm. Then, she picked something up off the floor: a long metal pole, filled with bags of fluid.

He slowly stood from his place on the floor, grabbing onto the medical bed for support before sitting down. "What the hell happened?" He desperately tried to remember the last thing he was doing, and his heart began to race with dread.

"Medically, you have a major concussion and abnormal brain activity. Williams said that you took a bad hit, but if you don't remember what happened, you're better off asking her for the full story." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "What _is_ the last thing you remember?" she asked analytically.

"Why the hell do you want to know?"

"Let me put this in words that you can understand," she replied scornfully, "you really messed up your head, and I'm still trying to figure out how bad. So, if you can take a moment to try and remember anything you can, that would be great." He could tell he pissed her off. Whatever.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall. He had that feeling, that feeling when you wake up from sleep and knew you had a dream but just couldn't remember it. He was doing something dangerous, something for the mission, something important. _The colony._

Impulsively, he jumped to his feet again. "The colony, Feros. I was on Feros." More memories came back to him, some fuzzier than others. "The Thorian," he snarled. That was the last thing he remembered. "I need to kill that thing." He stumbled as he tried to walk.

Chakwas grabbed his arm in a tight grip, stopping him before he could storm out of the medical bay. "You are not going anywhere, commander. And besides, you've already killed it. Pressley has been managing the relief efforts while the alliance tries to get here."

He had a nagging feeling that there was still something to do, someone to kill. It was what he was. "No, but there's still-"

"There is nothing more for you to do for the colony," the doctor said in a calm voice, before adding far more sternly: "Now sit down before you hurt yourself and give me more work."

He balled his fist and released it as he exhaled sharply. "Fine," he growled, "but I want a full status report. Now." He returned to the table and took a seat, his legs hanging off the edge.

"A please would be nice. Did your mother ever teach you…" _Manners_. The final words died on her tongue. In her haste to berate Shepard's combative demeanor, which to be fair was rather typical for a soldier, she'd neglected to consider who she was speaking to. Everyone knew the story of the orphan soldier, so she would have no excuse. The room was silent for several seconds, adding to the tension. It was hard to tell what the soldier's reactions would be. He was rash and unpredictable. "Commander, I didn't mean to-"

The commander slowly turned his head to face her, eyes staring straight ahead of him like lasers. When his eyes looked at her, his brow furrowed. "Just get done what you need to get done." His voice was hollow, almost calm; they contrasted his darkened brow and intense eyes. His head began to pound in pain, and he squinted as he tried to manage it.

"Well, alright then," she gulped. She quickly got to work replacing all the needles in his arm.

He turned to read the tiny print on the bags of liquid that fed the thin plastic tubes. Saline water with glucose, acetaminophen, and erythromycin. Meaningless words. "What's all this for?"

Chakwas took a moment to mull over her words carefully before answering. "You've been out for two days and you needed fluids. You won't need those anymore, but I'd recommend that you continue the IV medication for a couple more hours while I monitor you."

As she spoke, Shepard could feel her gloved hands delicately swab his arm with alcohol and stab him with the needles. He didn't even wince. "What's it for?"

"One is to help reduce any swelling in your brain. The other is to prevent any infection from your operation."

He did not like the tone of her words. "What operation? What did you do to me?"

Chakwas sighed as she disposed of her medical gloves. She rolled her chair in front of her desk, so she was closer to the commander, and took a seat. She cleared her throat before speaking. "Your brain was not in a very good condition when you got here, commander. At this point, I can't tell what caused what. I could only try to fix the damage."

"What damage?" he asked concerningly in a high-pitched voice, "what the hell happened?" He reached his arm around his head; on his neck, he felt surgical tap and stitches over a small incision.

"I guess I'll leave the cognitive and memory tests for later," she muttered. "All I have are the reports that your team gave me, but the quick version is that your head got slammed into a wall." She wanted to stop herself from saying her next comment, but she really couldn't help it. "And if that wasn't enough, you then let one of Saren's asari commandos into your mind to transfer to you the cipher."

"What? What cipher? I don't remember any of this."

Chakwas nodded grimly. "I hope that's because of the acute trauma you suffered and not anything permanent," she mumbled. "From what Garrus mentioned, the cipher is the 'collective knowledge of the Thorian'," she mocked with air quotes.

"I still don't understand. Why did you need to operate?" he asked desperately. The anticipation was killing him.

"Your biotic implant was malfunctioning and badly damaged. The inflammation in your cerebellum was not doing it any favors, and neither were the seizures."

His eyes widened in fright. He raised his right hand and formed a fist, futilely trying to summon his biotics. Nothing came. This couldn't be. It was his weapon, an extension of himself, a manifestation of his strength. "You took my implant out?" he asked, voice dripping with terror.

Chakwas scoffed at the suggestion. "No, commander, I wouldn't dare do that. I'm specialized in trauma, not neurosurgery. I operated to relieve the inflammation and fluid build-up in your skull. Nevertheless, the state of your biotics remains questionable, and in my medical recommendation, extremely unadvisable."

"What do you mean unadvisable?" He tried again to summon the blue energy, straining against the invisible barrier that held him back.

"Shepard! You're going to-"

His face turned red and his eyes felt like popping out of their sockets from the pressure. When he felt a tingle at the base of his skull, he was motivated to try even harder, thinking that maybe he was regaining his ability. His body began to start shaking uncontrollably. He collapsed to the bed underneath him, spasming and foaming at the mouth.

"Not this again!"

A syringe was jabbed in his thigh, but he never noticed. He was transported to another plane of existence. He was living other lives; or rather, he was watching them. Events, places, experiences, and faces, very strange faces. It was like watching a thousand television shows but all at once. His brain couldn't handle it.

* * *

He was running through the tunnels. In his arms, he clutched something fleshy and warm close to his body, almost as if he was protecting it. He felt sheer terror as he ran. A handful of others ran with him.

He knew this place. He fought through similar buildings and tunnels mere hours ago, at least from his perspective. He heard a resounding, metallic roar which shook the very ground beneath their feet. It too felt familiar.

His instincts tried to kick in, even though he was dreaming. He wanted to drop whatever he was holding in his arms and reach for his weapons. He believed, he knew, that with a gun in his hand, he could kill any foe. However, this body was not his own; he was merely a powerless spectator along for the ride.

He heard gunfire and explosions, and even though he couldn't see them, the bellows of ships engaged in air-to-air combat. The sounds of battle produced for him a beautiful song of chaos, a chorus all his own. Tripping on something, he fell to the ground and dropped whatever was in his arms. Like everything around him, it too began to make noise. He realized that whatever he dropped was crying through four, yellow eyes. Disgusted and confused, Shepard wanted to jump away from the unfamiliar site. But he was forced to pick up the child again and scramble to his feet, desperately trying to catch up to the others.

Except, he ended up running into them. Now, they were running in the opposite direction and he didn't know why. He discovered the answer when he saw one member of his group get torn to shreds by vile, mechanical creatures. They looked almost like the husks on Eden Prime, except these weren't shaped like humans.

He realized he was reliving the memories of an alien, an alien trying to protect her child. He wanted to yell at her, to tell her to drop the child and fight. Yet he knew she wouldn't. He felt her emotions and her fear for what she loved. Like the alien species, these feelings were alien as well.

He felt sharp metal claws tear into his backside and drag him to the ground. The last thing he felt was the horrendous and gruesome process of being ripped apart, piece by piece. He didn't think he'd ever forget the piercing screams of the child as it too died in agony.

* * *

"What is his condition?

"He suffered another seizure."

"He had a seizure?"

"Yes, although this one was self-induced."

"What do you mean self-induced?"

"He tried using his biotics," Chakwas explained, "against my strong recommendation not to."

Kaidan nodded along. It sounded like Shepard alright. He turned to Pressley, now the Normandy's de facto executive officer. "So, what are our next steps?"

"The relief efforts we've been managing have helped the colonists greatly," he admitted, "but the alliance should finally arrive here by tomorrow morning and take over."

If the commander were still awake, he also knew that the Normandy would remain on the hunt for Saren. However, he was not commander Shepard.

"I suggest we head to the citadel as soon as we can. Our supplies of food, fuel, and water have been greatly depleted from helping the colonists." Pressley believed that the commander would rather die than let Saren get away. Unfortunately, they had no leads on the rogue spectre. Even then, Pressley was now responsible for the Normandy, and by extension all its crew and the commander. He did not want to be the one held responsible for crippling humanity's first human spectre. Shepard was only one man, but if his actions on the colony were any indication, he was indispensable.

More importantly, Shepard was also the only person alive who had any clue about Saren's mission. While Shepard couldn't consciously declare it, the information was very possibly buried somewhere in the commander's mind, a product of the prothean beacon and the newly acquired cipher from the Thorian. "While we stock up, Shepard can get the specialized medical care he needs."

"I'll tell Joker to prepare our course, then," Kaidan replied.

* * *

He felt groggy. He knew he had fallen asleep, yet he did not feel rested. He opened his eyes, squinting to see through the bright lights. He felt an odd sense of déjà vu. He slowly sat up, but he felt very woozy and unbalanced, almost as if he were drugged.

Shepard noticed white wires obscuring his vision. He traced them back to his forehead and scalp. It appeared to be some sort of medical device. He turned to see Chakwas asleep, leaning back in her chair with her feet kicked up on the desk.

"If you're thinking of trying to run off again, I will gladly stick you with another tranquilizer."

_Well then, she clearly isn't asleep._ "What happened? All I remember was that we were talking, and then…" He wracked his mind, trying to recall events to no avail.

Chakwas turned her chair and brought her feet to the ground. "You tried to use your biotics, even though I told you not to." She saw the look of shock and defiance on his face. In reply, she stood up and swiftly confronted him, sternly pointing a finger. "You gave yourself a seizure the last time you tried, so I would stop whatever you were attempting."

"Okay," he mumbled. His energy was particularly drained anyway. He could barely move, let alone summon enough fortitude for his biotics. "Can I have some food though? I felt like I haven't eaten in forever."

Chakwas snorted because Shepard's comment was true. "That can be arranged. The last thing we need is the great commander Shepard atrophying in my medical bay."


	42. Devolution

Council meetings. They made him mad. He hated them. The reason was simple: the commander perceived the council to be too different from himself. He was uneducated and unrefined. The council was eloquent and knowledgeable. He was a grunt soldier. The council was his boss. He was a spectre. But only at their behest. He barely had the patience to sit through these meetings, especially when the councilors began to attack each other in-between the lines. While they played politics, people like him died.

Yet he would try his best to play nice. Chakwas had warned him against stressing himself out too much. The council didn't matter. Fuck them. He had matters far more important to contend with than politics, like Saren and Reapers and mass extinction.

"Who told you to kill the Thorian?" Sparatus snarled.

"I must admit," Valern concurred, "it could have been a great source of information on the protheans."

He wanted to scream 'I tried!' He had almost died down there, he put his crew in harm's way, he protected the colony from the geth. Most importantly to him, he found the next clue to tracking down Saren. But none of that was enough for the council. They would nitpick until the found the one thing he failed to do, no matter how insignificant. His face darkened visibly. "It was controlling the colonists, turning them hostile. Its foot soldiers were attacking us. I didn't have a choice."

The salarian nodded, almost in a bowing motion. "Of course commander, the mission always comes first. Hopefully, the cipher will bring you one step closer to finding Saren."

The commander gulped. While Valern's agreement was refreshing, Shepard felt reluctant over the mention of the cipher. It hadn't brought him closer. Rather, it had crippled him for several days. Chakwas told him that his brain activity was reducing to normal levels, but the nightmares, visions, and surreal experiences had continued, nonetheless. He had found, or rather seen (since he was usually brought along for the ride rather than controlling it), nothing that could help him find Saren. He would have to generate some bullshit. "Yes, I'm…my mind is still working through it."

"Well, work faster, commander," the turian councilor spat, "we didn't make you a spectre so you could sit around dreaming all day."

Shepard ground his teeth together, trying to control his anger from becoming a violent outburst. He debated what his response should be. Normally, his self-control hung by a thread, but these were three of the most 'powerful' people in the galaxy. Although, he used the word 'powerful' sparingly; he could probably kill all three of them before they could cry out for help.

Shepard watched Valern lean towards Tevos and whisper something in her ear. She nodded her head in reply. The anticipation over not knowing was killing him. Luckily, the asari cued him in. "Commander Shepard, I believe that we know someone who can help you understand the cipher."

His right hand balled into a fist. "Tell me where," he demanded, "I'll leave the citadel immediately." Well, immediately was a little bit misleading. He had another appointment to attend first. Nevertheless, his determination to find Saren was immeasurable.

Sparatus looked over at his fellow councilors. "What are you talking about?"

"Valern suggested that Sha'ira may be able to help the commander sort the vision."

"You can't be serious!" Sparatus laughed sarcastically, "I doubt he could afford it."

Shepard knew he'd just been roasted. Another person was looking down on him. His mouth twisted into a snarl and he raised his hand, sternly pointing a finger at Sparatus. As his anger built, and his heart began to race, he started to feel slightly lightheaded. He grabbed onto the railing in front of him for support. Dr. Chakwas' warning played vividly in his mind.

Given this moment to reconsider, he shoved Sparatus' comment to the side and decided to address the question of the next mission. "I… I don't know who that is," he mumbled. "Do you at least have the system I can find him in?"

"You don't need to take the Normandy to find Sha'ira. She works here on the citadel. Everybody knows that. Except for you."

 _Fuck him._ "Can she be trusted with such sensitive information?"

"Sparatus goes all the time. You should be fine." It would appear that Valern finally decided to take pity on the commander. The turian's stunned reaction put a small smile on Shepard's face.

"I'll go find her, then." His words echoed loudly throughout the desolate chamber.

"It's not that easy, commander. I'll put you in contact with my secretary; she will set up your meeting."

* * *

"Welcome, commander Shepard. It's such an honor to have somebody as respected as you in my office."

Shepard slowly took a seat. The chair was lavish but firm as it conformed and supported his body. It was definitely not something he'd ever owned. Such decadence for a man who would be just as happy sitting on a concrete slab made him feel out a character. The bright lights of the office reflected strongly off the white walls and floor, forcing him to slightly squint as he shook the doctor's hand.

"I wish it were under better circumstances," Shepard replied. But honestly, he wouldn't want to be here regardless of the circumstances. He had better things to do than grace other people with his presence like some celebrity.

"Of course, commander. Most of your missions are classified no doubt, but from the nightly news we get, you're a bloody hero out there in the traverse! I hope to get you out of here as soon as possible."

"Thanks," he replied stoically, contrasting the doctor's enthusiasm. He hated that word, hero, it left a bad taste in his mouth. He was no hero. He was a soldier, and killing was what he did. It was a job, one he had become accustomed to. He did not want praise. To him, actions spoke louder than words, and he detested small talk anyway. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the ornately carved wooden desk. "What's the plan."

"Right to business, I see." The bit of reluctance on the doctor's face was visible. Shepard guessed that the doctor wanted to chat with humanity's first spectre. Too bad. "Your medic aboard the ship did the best she could with the equipment she had. She's given us all the data she collected over the last week. Nevertheless, I thought it best that you underwent a few more tests while at our institution."

 _A few? Mother fucker._ "Ya, I could tell." He recalled the things they had done to him. Shoving him in a loud rotating magnet, giving him…what the fuck was it… radioactive glucose, sticking needles in his arms, a full cranial nerve exam, the works. It had taken forever and was most boring. "What did you find?"

"You had three distinct problems. The concussion, seizures, and the loss of your biotics," he stated. "In the long run, your motor abilities should be fine. Most of the physical damage was from the concussion you sustained in combat."

"But I'm still getting dizzy when I stand up," he sighed in a defeated voice. "It's been like this the entire week. There must be something you can do."

The doctor cleared his throat. "I understand your frustration. You're a spectre and probably want to get back to work. However, as I said, this is just a concussion. A major one, mind you, but still just a concussion. The inflammation is subsiding, and our examination found no permanent damage to your somatic nervous system."

"Unfortunately, this is where a definite understanding of your problem ends." The doctor started messing around with his computer. The lights in the room dimmed, and in the center of the table, a holographic projection appeared. "I'd like to talk about the seizures now." The doctor's new tone put him on edge. "This graph shows the average electrical activity in your brain since your injury. It was constructed with the data your medical officer collected. As you can see, there is a steady downward trend."

"Meaning?"

The doctor sighed heavily and clasped his hands. "At the end of the day, it's a good sign. Hopefully, it means that as time goes on, your brain activity should return to normal. Hopefully. We are still unsure of what caused it, but my money is on the concussion. It's a rare symptom, but the only thing that explains it."

"You don't sound convinced, doctor," Shepard spat in frustration.

"If I can be prudent while saying so, you and your medical officer were rather cryptic about some things, and I can understand that, but the more information we get, the better. I can only try to help with what I have, commander." The doctor finished. Shepard thought he saw his hands shaking slightly. The poor man was afraid.

Shepard smirked. Chakwas had done her job well. Wouldn't be smart to go around telling every medical doctor in the hospital about the intricate aspects of his mission. However, here he would make an exception. "Well, the concussion wasn't the only thing. There was…" he struggled to find the words, for even he found it difficult to describe, "something else."

Shepard turned his head, ensuring that the door to the office was closed to any passerbys. "One of the reasons we were being vague was because it is critical to my mission-"

"I understand, commander," the doctor jumped in before Shepard could finish.

"But the other reason is that we ourselves find it difficult to explain."

The doctor slightly tilted his head to either side repeatedly, almost as if he was preparing for some mental exercise.

"Ever since I touched a prothean beacon on Eden Prime, I've been having visions. I believe they hold clues about what my enemy is after, but I can't understand them."

"So that's why the colony was attacked?"

Shepard began to tap his fingers on the desk, the rhythmic pattern's indicating his displeasure. He continued without answering the doctor's question. "While following the trail of this enemy, I ran across a mind-controlling, forty-thousand-year-old telepathic plant from the prothean era. To put it simply, let's just say I took its collective knowledge so I could better understand the vision." Shepard left out a lot of the story. The 'enemy' was Saren, a rogue spectre. Shepard didn't take the cipher from the Thorian; he'd killed the Thorian and taken its cipher from Saren's sacrificial servant. Now that he thought about it, he never really got around to asking about what happened to her. Whatever.

"Never ceases to amaze me what new things we find in the galaxy every day," the doctor mumbled.

"You don't know the half of it, but now you know what you need to know. So, can you refine your predictions with this information, doctor Rushman?" Shepard's eyes flicked upwards, peering at the rows of awards, accreditations, and degrees that hung on the wall behind the doctor.

He sat silently for a moment, yet his eyes wandered in consideration. Eventually, he finally spoke. "Before, when you were still having seizures, did you see anything? Did you notice any visions, strange dreams?"

"Yes," Shepard answered back reluctantly.

The doctor nodded his head. "Given the bizarre nature of your encounters, this is pure speculation. However, I think it's entirely possible that your condition might have been exacerbated by the beacon and the plant."

"How's that? I've had others in my mind before," _Well, just the one, but still._ "Why is this the exception? The asari do it all the time!"

A small, almost invisible smile crept on the doctor's face at Shepard's first statement. Regrettably, Shepard was observant. "It was business. Don't get any ideas," he snarled. The mere thought of being intimate with someone, whether physically or psychologically, was repulsive. Connection was disgusting, weak; forcing himself to let someone else in his head, even professionally, had been and would be very difficult.

"I understand." The doctor cleared his throat. "It is possible that all the neurological activity is a side effect of your brain is trying to process the information you received. It would explain the dreams," the scientist pondered in a detracted voice, "although that theory probably approaches Freud more than science. Still, the best we can do is keep you on the medication."

"You can't do anything else to permanently fix this?"

"Surgery is not necessary, commander. It would do more damage than it is worth, all based on speculation. There is nothing anatomically wrong with your brain, aside from the subsiding inflammation."

"But I read that there are operations you could do. You **are** a neurosurgeon," Shepard insisted.

The doctor sighed; ever so slowly, he was getting annoyed; however, after years and years of being a doctor, he'd built up a large tolerance for the stupidity that patients would sometimes walk in with. Commander Shepard was not so different from most people. He was a spectre but reading stupid medical advice on the extranet was apparently not beyond him. "If you are referring to the severing of your corpus callosum, yes it could reduce the severity of your seizures. However, it would impair your abilities in general, and you could no longer be a soldier."

The doctor watched the look of frustration spread across Shepard's face. The soldier wasn't happy, but at least he had convinced him to not do the operation. The commander then appeared to be working up the courage to say something, the words slowly forming.

"Wait, I'm sorry but I'm really lost right now," Shepard admitted in frustration. "What am I supposed to do then?"

A warm, artificial smile spread across the doctor's mouth. "Not a problem, commander. To recap, there is no serious trauma in your brain that would warrant surgery, and your symptoms appear to be fading. The medication your doctor prescribed should do just fine until you fully recover. And for your convenience, I'll be sure to send any relevant information to your primary physician after this is over." The doctor paused to look down at his notes. "Ah, and your biotics. That is the last item we have to discuss."

It was also the item that gave Shepard the most anxiety. His ability to fight was on the line. Killing was his only purpose, the only thing he was ever good at. He sat silently, waiting for the news.

"Our scans detected nothing wrong with your implant. While the brain tissue near it is inflamed, that is from trauma, not a malfunction in the interface."

"Then why can't I use my biotics?" the soldier grumbled. "If the chip is fine, then why won't it work?"

The doctor pursed his lips. "We, we don't know, commander. It is possible that the injury you endured damaged the parts of your brain connected to the amp's interface."

The doctor watched his patient's hands and arms visibly shake. A normal person would assume that the commander was angry. However, as a doctor, experience told him that this was fear and shock.

"Can't you put in a new one?"

"No, I would never do that operation."

"Why? It's just a computer chip in the back of my skull. You have to do something!"

"It's not that simple commander. Implanting the chips is hard enough. Removing it is dangerous. Replacing it is out of the question and would cripple, or most likely, even kill you. So long as the chip isn't causing damage to your brain, the best option is to leave it alone."

The commander's mouth hung open. He looked like he was about to breakdown; the sight was paradoxical for such a big and dangerous man. "What of my biotics?" he choked out while staring down at his hands in pained disbelief. _What of my purpose?_

"Hope they return on their own."

Silence filled the room and consumed John's existence.

* * *

He needed a drink. Actually no, not a drink; he needed to get wasted so he didn't have to remember anything, and maybe for a few hours, he would forget the exact nature of his predicament. What alternative did he have? Objectively, he would be fine. He would be able to live like a normal person. But his biotics? No one knew, and that's what made him feel like shitting his pants. It was like waiting for bad news that you knew was coming; you still hoped that by some miracle it would turn out okay, but you knew that the hammer was coming down no matter how much you hoped. He knew what the more probable outcome was, and getting drunk was an act of denying it, albeit for a short while. Technically, he wasn't allowed to drink because of his injuries, but fuck it.

He felt naked and powerless without his biotics. He hadn't always had them. In fact, he'd lived without biotics for more years than he'd had them. However, the problem was that he'd had them for many years by now. It was like a limb or a hand that one would depend on daily. Imagine getting your hand abruptly cut off permanently. You could never go about your life or interact with the world the same way again. Every time you tried to use it out of instinct because you had forgotten, you'd be confronted with the loss all over again. A few days or weeks, he could handle. Hoping indefinitely, he could not; hope had never been on his side, so why would it be this time?

He'd decided on Cora's. It was a shady, dark place. No one of importance would be there. Plus, the chance that anyone on shore leave would be at Cora's from the Normandy or any other alliance vessel was slim to none. It was the perfect place to hide away and sulk in silence for a couple of hours. All he needed was some time to rest his eyes and to be so drunk that he wouldn't dream of nightmares and screams and death.

The hallways were dimly lit. The narrow streets were uncleaned and smelled of trash. It brought him back to his youth, back to a time where he was too weak to stand up for himself; it was also a time when he didn't have his biotics. That put him in an even more sour mood.

He wore a spare set of light armor. He wanted to obscure his face, and no one would recognize him in these colors: dull grays and dirty whites. He did not want to be ambushed by nosy reporters or idealistic soldiers or grateful citizens. John recognized the flaw in his plan: he'd eventually have to take the helmet off if he wanted to drink. But that was a problem for later.

He approached the front entrance of the establishment. It reminded him of the time he first stepped foot on the station. Things were so much simpler back then. He wasn't a spectre; he didn't command a ship; the scope of the threat Saren posed had yet to be fully realized. Before, he was just a soldier. Now, he was **the** soldier. How much things can change over a few short months.

A krogan stood at the front, guarding its entrance. John remembered when he'd wiped this place clean of mercs and gangs and whatnot. The workers that had operated this bar, as well as its owner, had been killed. Clearly, they had been easily replaced like cogs in a machine. New management, new workers, but he would be a fool if he expected this place to be any better.

A rough, brazen voice spoke. "And who would you be?"

"Does it matter?" Shepard growled back. The answer was simple: he was nobody. He didn't want to be Commander Shepard right now. He wanted to be John, the nameless street kid who nobody would remember or pay any attention to. He desired anonymity, to appear to be yet another cog in the vast machine of society. Just like these assholes. No one expected anything from them, and nothing they did was important.

The krogan stepped forward, towering over him. "I can't have people going in there and making problems. Rules are rules, now off with the helmet."

It was funny. Krogan could scream without trying, intimidate you with their presence merely by accident. John wasn't in the mood for a fight, despite his aggravation; besides, he was no longer sure he could win against this krogan, or any krogan for that matter. John sighed as he raised his arms to his head, taking off the helmet that hid his face from the world. He heard the hiss of pressurized air as he began to remove it; that sound was the audible warning that he would be known again.

His face was downcast and pissed. Eyes leveled like daggers, eyebrows scrunched in anger, and jaw jutted to the side. These weren't for the krogan, at least not specifically. "Let me in, or I can just call C-Sec to raid this place."

"So, the human spectre came here to make problems?" the krogan asked with a smirk.

"No. I just want a drink. Undisturbed. That's all. Can I go in now?" The krogan begrudgingly stepped to the side.

John considered putting his helmet back on, but it would be useless because it would come off in a minute anyway. He walked to the counter, slowly absorbing the chaotic environment around him. Lights flashing through the darkness, dancers moving, people talking and having a blast. He hated it. The noise, the joy of other people, he hated it all. But he wanted to sleep, and he did not have the necessary 'supplies' on the _Normandy_.

He reached the counter and leaned on it, waiting for the bartender to take his order.

"What can I get you?" The bartender was Batarian. Whatever. He expected slime like this to be here anyway.

"Vodka."

"How many shots?"

"Give me the whole bottle." He didn't want to be back and forth. He just wanted to sit, sip away, and pass out quietly in the back.

"We don't do that here. It's against citadel regs."

Shepard was amused by the irony. He may have been a spectre, but he never really cared for the regs anyway, citadel or otherwise; they were a nuisance of the ivory tower. Try to put roadblocks and rules to control the scum below, supposedly for their benefit. He had a faint recollection of the rules; they had similar ones back on Earth; they were supposed to prevent people from getting so drunk that they'd crash their vehicles. No one ever cared, at least not where he was from. He doubted this Batarian would care either. Shepard retrieved several credit chits. He knew how these people worked. He put half of it down. "For the bottle," he said in a raised voice, trying to be heard over the music. He put the other half down, "for the tip." His instincts told him to be cheap; having decent savings was still a new thing to him, but he rarely spent it. _Let me splurge._

Shepard watched as the four black orbs stared hungrily at the credits below. The money was swiftly swiped off the table. The bartender went away and returned with the bottle. Shepard delicately reached for it, taking care not to be too abrupt and shatter the expensive drink. He walked away without another word. He went towards the back of the bar and found an empty booth. He collapsed into the cushioned yet stiff seat. He put his head in his arms for a long while, just resting his eyes.

* * *

The Normandy was quiet, almost too quiet for her tastes. Not only was it a sleek new ship that barely produced noise, but the engines weren't even on because the shipped was docked. The silence would put any quarian on edge, but she was gradually getting used to it. Maybe one day it wouldn't bother her at all, but she would probably be long gone by that point.

She sat on a crate in the cargo hold, alone. Most of the crew was gone, probably living it up and partying, or hanging out at restaurants and shops. Not even Garrus was here, and he loved to work on the Mako in his spare time. He'd still yet to fix all the dents and scrapes from when Shepard had flipped it over on that desert planet. That memory, in turn, reminded her of how she'd almost died that day to a nuclear bomb. However, that thought was no way to respond to the question of 'How is your pilgrimage going?.'

'Good,' she responded, intentionally vague. She was trying to buy time to think of some excuse to satisfy her father's expectations.

'Then you've found a pilgrimage gift?' Shit, she'd been caught. However, she couldn't say that she wasn't expecting him to ask that question. It wouldn't be out of place for any quarian parent to ask their child that, but her father was different. He'd be disappointed instead of motivational. Nothing was ever enough for the admiral that was her father.

'No,' she replied reluctantly and after much hesitation.

A text bubble appeared with three pulsating dots in the middle. Her father was typing his reply, and she was very much afraid.

'Why? What have you been doing? It's been six months already.'

 _Oh, this will be a story._ She looked up from her omnitool and turned her head to look at the ship around her. This was what she had been doing. She began to type her reply out slowly, choosing each word only after much internal deliberation.

'Aboard a human alliance vessel. I'm working for a human spectre.' She tried to stress the word human as much as possible. No, not because of the person in question, but because of their race. Most quarians did not possess as negative views of humans as they did of other aliens. Nevertheless, hostility was still there; her people didn't like outsiders, and Commander Shepard had been as insensitive as possible to the plight of her people anyway. But it was better than nothing.

The text bubble indicating that her father was responding appeared again, this time for longer. Her dread was all-consuming, and she was so nervous that her foot kept tapping on the ground.

When her father responded, she realized that she'd made a mistake by mentioning the spectres. The prestige didn't matter. The mere mention of anything council related would be upsetting. They had refused to help her people. 'You give yourself great shame by working for the council. I'm shocked you had even considered it, let alone gone through with it. You know what they did to our people.'

She wanted to tell her father that it was for something bigger than the council, that she was fighting to stop a rogue spectre and the reapers and their geth allies. Her fingers hovered over the keys, ready to type her thoughts, but she stopped herself. All that information was dangerous and somewhat unbelievable. However, it was also classified. Shepard had made it very clear to everyone aboard about the importance of secrecy and hiding. Even if he was a spectre, his secretive stance was to be expected from such a shadowy and introverted persona. Yet most importantly, no excuse would matter because she didn't have a gift.

Before she could conjure up and decide on a response, her father continued. 'You are wasting your time and putting your life in danger.'

She began to type her response. 'Father.'

But he cut her off again before she could type her reply and abruptly ended the conversation. 'I hope the next time you interrupt my work to speak to me, you have something of value to report.'

She closed her omnitool and her eyes. Nothing was ever enough to meet his expectations. _What does he expect me to return with, a fleet of ships?_ Fat chance. She didn't even have a relatively normal pilgrimage gift yet. There was always the stealth drive technology from the Normandy… No. Stealing wasn't her. She'd find something, something that would make her father shut up.

* * *

He was out cold. He wasn't sure for how long, or how much he had drank. He felt like shit, but at least his mind was peaceful. Sadly, his soldier instincts kicked in once he felt someone grab for the bottle. His grip instantly turned to steel around the glass neck. His eyes shot open, bloodshot and hazy, searching for the asshole who had bothered to disturb him. The bar was quieter than usual, so it must have been late, but no bar was ever truly quiet. There would always be stragglers, people like him and the person who had bothered to wake him. Well, not a person, but rather the people. Two young men and they looked like trouble.

"Look what we have here!" one of the men responded. "John Shepard, in the flesh."

John tugged on the bottle of alcohol, and the guy let go. "What do you want?" he stammered.

Without his permission, the duo slid into the seat across from him. Their mischievous faces told him they had not come for an autograph. "To see the legend in person. You know they still talk about you from time to time. Couldn't pass up the chance to say hello."

John brought his left hand to his face, rubbing his sore eyes. He was too drunk to think clearly. So drunk, that he could not remember why he was here or why he had drunk himself to oblivion either. It was ignorant bliss until these two arrived. "Who're you?"

"Forgotten us already?"

"I don't… know you, kid."

"Reds."

John groaned. "Wha?" he replied slowly. The thumping music in the background made it hard to concentrate.

"Tenth Street Reds," they laughed in unison. One of the men yanked the bottle out of John's grasp and poured some into his mouth. Shepard was too sleepy to fight back.

His drunken mind turned over the words. They meant something to him. Not anything sentimental, but it was familiar. When it clicked, he felt his stomach drop. "The fuck?" His past was back.

"Aww, just because you moved on and got famous doesn't mean we stopped existing. You may not know us, but we know you!" The men laughed again at his expense.

"No, no you…don't," he stammered. "Didn't think they would bother to mention me."

"Everyone thought you were dead. No one did mention you, not until you turned up on the news one day."

_So, they didn't know what really happened in that warehouse…_

The man turned to his friend. "What was the headline?"

"Sole Survivor of Akuze," the other replied, waving his hand through the air in an arc as if the headline was scrolling in front of them.

"Ah, that was the first one," he went for another swig of John's alcohol, "but definitely not the last."

The soldier lunged forward and snatched it out of the man's grasp. He set it on the table roughly, almost shattering it. "If you pretend to know me so well, then you should also know that I wasn't one for small talk. Leave me the fuck alone," he snarled.

"That's no way to treat old friends." The sarcasm that dripped off their voice twisted John's nerves. "Would you mind doing us a favor?"

"Yes."

"Awesome!"

"Yes, I do mind," John corrected harshly. Regrettably, it seemed that these two hadn't heard him or simply didn't care.

"There's a buddy of ours being held at c-sec."

"Some bullshit about his ID," the other man added.

John started to chuckle quietly, but it slowly evolved into rancorous laughter. He pounded his fist on the table, jostling the glasses and bottles. "You're smuggling drugs," he spat. "I can't help you." He knew what the Reds did, at least when he was there. Red sand, red sand, and more red sand.

"Can't? Or won't? You're a spectre." He paused. "Our spectre. I thought you were supposed to look out for us humans. Come on? For old times' sake?"

"Leave." There were no 'old times.' There was only hurt. He wanted to forget so badly. Just when it seemed that he'd reached the furthest point possible from his life before the alliance, it had reared its head.

Their brazenly jolly attitude morphed into something a little more hostile. "I think he's been spending too much time with the aliens."

"You know, we tried to be nice, but it seems you won't help us out."

To John, it sounded like they were going to leave. He was elated. Their presence here was a reminder of his old life, when he was too weak to fend for himself. They were a reminder of all the abuse.

"Maybe we should remind everybody of where you came from."

He realized that he'd been too optimistic that they would leave so easily. He knew what these men were like; he'd grown up with people like them. "What are you talking about," he asked deliriously.

"You're a criminal just like us, Shepard. How would the galaxy like to know that one if its spectre's isn't so clean?"

A sly grin appeared on his face as he realized what they were talking about. He found the irony so amusing he started to laugh. These chumps were so dumb. "I'm a council spectrrrrre… and a heavily decorated shouldier," he slurred through his chuckles, "and your plan is to black-blackmail me?" Besides, his criminal past was the lighter stuff; the real meat and bones of John Shepard were either redacted or had never made it to the reports in the first place.

He reached for the glass bottle. There was no point in saving it, he was no longer in the mood. Grabbing it by the stem, he picked it up like a baton and smashed it in the face of one of the men. The man screamed as shards of glass cut his face, and the alcohol burned his eyes and new cuts alike.

John crawled out of his seat and tried to stand. Instead, he stumbled to the floor. He rolled over and attempted to push the other man into the wall with his biotics. His attempt met with failure and confusion. Before he had time to ponder why, the man jumped on him. It appeared that he would have to take care of this problem the old-fashioned way.

* * *

The pieces of fried chicken had been good, but now came the dull part of the meal, the part he always saved for last. He mulled over his fries. Yes, he had ketchup, but that was just there to turn something inedible into something edible. There was nothing worse than soggy fries, a problem made worse by leaving them for last. Proper french fries with just the right crispiness were few and far between; a true rare art. He shouldn't have expected such mastery from a humble citadel sports bar. He opted to take a sip of some beer from his half-empty glass.

The bar counter shook. Alenko turned to see Garrus pounding on it, his eyes glued to the TV screens in front of them. The turian was watching some alien sport that appeared strangely like soccer. The other crew of the _Normandy_ seemed to be strangely entranced by it, crowding around and behind Garrus as they watched the teams play. He wasn't a sportsman himself, but he'd occasionally glance over the various screens in front of him.

He preferred biotaball, but unfortunately, that wasn't on. Instead, the TVs were tuned to other various sports channels of human and alien origin, in addition to some news stations, which lined the wall behind the bar. He read the text that scrolled under the headline news title; it was random stories of all genres. A robbery somewhere in the wards. District election forecasts. Stock futures seemed to be going down, especially for aerospace and colonization; no surprise given the recent events on Feros. The volus had engaged in more quantitative easing and devaluation to further increase their trade surplus. And a major bar fight at Cora's Den. Thirteen injured, two critically, all transported to Huerta Memorial. Kaiden shrugged; it wasn't too surprising. That's why they were all at the citadel's safer, albeit tamer, establishments. No need to be surrounded by those criminals.

He finished his beer and pushed the plate of fries away from him. He stood up and stretched a little. He looked over at the group of marines again. Most of the _Normandy_ crew, from piloting to fighting to maintenance, was here with a few exceptions. Ashley and Liara had gone off a few minutes ago to the shopping district. Tali stayed behind on the Normandy to work. Wrex was here, although he had gone outside to puke; too much to drink, even for a krogan. The last man out was Shepard. When some of the other alliance crew had tried to invite him, Shepard said he had a doctor's appointment, but that had been hours ago. The man could be anywhere by now. Whatever, now wasn't the time to think about that. He walked over to the group and tried to get a good vantage point. The score was 5-5, and he was pretty sure the alliance crewmen were betting. Time to pick a winner at random and join the fray.


	43. Raison D'Être

This place was much more than he had expected it to be. He felt disturbed and uncomfortable.

"Commander Shepard, a pleasure to finally meet you." The asari who'd spoken had her back turned to him.

"Hi," he said stoically, although he found it odd how the asari knew who he was without looking. He scanned the room: its richly colored paintings and decor, its ornate furniture, its shining walls, and its bright lights.

The asari finally turned to face him. "You can enter."

He realized he had stopped walking at the foot of the door. He had been reluctant to enter; in fact, he'd been reluctant to continue walking through this place ever since he put two and two together. "Are you Sha'ira?"

"Yes, I am." As she walked towards him, her long and colorful robes swayed with the movement. "You look uncomfortable. Would you like to take a seat?"

He cleared his throat. "Sure." He'd come here with little information. All Tevos had said was that Sha'ira would help him, but she'd left it intentionally vague. He made his way over to the most spartan piece of furniture he could find facing the door.

"You're every bit the soldier I expected, commander," Sha'ira said as she made her way over to the seat across from him.

He narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" He tried his best not to look like one; he was informed that he wouldn't be able to walk in with weapons and that he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he wore is armor. Right now, he was John Shepard in the most civilian clothing he had. Even then, he concluded that there must have been some miscommunication between him and Tevos' secretary. The vibes of this place were more casual than clinical. This hadn't been what he was expecting. It was unnerving.

"Your afraid someone will come bursting through, aren't you?" Sha'ira laughed lightly. "That's why you sat facing the door. You're scared to turn your back."

John shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "What?" he asked in confusion. He couldn't deny that he felt a constant anxiousness. He was more defenseless than ever. But he did not know how she could read him.

"Your body is stiff, your eyes are vigilant, you're tapping your left foot as if you plan on jumping out of that chair at any moment. You're nervous just being in this new place, and you chose to default to your best defense."

"Why would you say that?" Only when she listed off all the things she noticed did he realize that he was doing them. Why would he notice these things anyway? It was how he acted all the time. Sha'ira's perception crept him out, and he did not want to give her more ammunition. He made a conscious effort to stop his foot from tapping the floor, the most visible of his tells.

"Part of my job is reading people, Commander Shepard."

"And what's the other part of your job?" he asked with partial disgust and partial curiosity. It was the question that had been burning at the back of his mind ever since he had gotten here.

"Depends on the client. We try to adapt to their needs as best we can," she explained with a comforting smile.

"Huh." _Needs,_ he thought venomously. Not needs; weakness. However, despite his impulses, he would mind his tongue for now. From what he had heard, this woman was not to be trifled with, so he would deliver his thoughts in a tamer manner. "I'm in no need of any such extravagances."

"Of course. Councilor Tevos told me you're on a very important mission."

He realized that he had gotten so caught up in his own discomfort that he'd forgotten why he was here. "The mission," he muttered, "yes…the mission." It's what had really been giving him anxiety. He didn't know how to complete it, and he believed he'd be next to useless now. _No, I'll figure something out._ Not all soldiers had biotics. He'd started this assignment and he would finish it. "I'm hunting down someone very dangerous."

"Saren Arterius," Sha'ira stated.

His eyes widened in shock. He did not understand how she could possibly know, as he hadn't even said anything.

"I have powerful friends, commander."

Shepard laughed nervously; although he didn't find it amusing. "Clearly." Her comment made him recall what Valern had said about Sparatus being here. No doubt Tevos and Valern had been here as well; god knows who else. _Is this a cult thing?_ What the hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

"What are we picking up again?" Wrex grumbled. He did not like being regarded as a forklift.

"Weapons," Garrus said slyly.

"You should have said that from the start," Wrex grumbled. "But why are we at c-sec?"

Garrus spread his arms wide as the elevators opened to his old workplace. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"Bah! The selection is sub-standard," he retorted as he swatted Garrus' hand out of his face. "Shepard would never purchase their crap."

"C-sec has many secrets. If you have the right clearance, you can get access to some very select merchandise."

The two aliens walked down the stairs. Garrus then hooked a right, and Wrex followed the turian. "Nothing you couldn't find on the black market."

"Maybe, maybe not, but official manufactures are always better."

"Of course," Wrex laughed, "who would you sue when you injured yourself with it."

Garrus made a left. Wrex was no longer the only one lost, as this was a part of the headquarters that even he had never been to; he never had the clearance, but now he did. Well, technically only because of his employer. Shepard had asked him a favor: pick up the sniper rifle he'd purchased earlier. When asked why he couldn't do it himself, the commander had been rather sketchy and insisted that he was following a lead on Saren. No matter. Garrus had managed to swindle a discretionary budget out of the commander, and Garrus was looking to buy some upgrades of his own.

* * *

The commander collapsed out of his chair and onto the floor. He felt like vomiting, so he concentrated on his breathing: in through the nose, out through the mouth. Eventually, he collected himself enough to realize that the asari wasn't even fazed; she sat eloquently in her chair. He forced himself to get back up and sit in his chair, even though he still felt dizzy as hell. He hoped that all this pain and discomfort would be worth something.

"What…what did you find?"

Sha'ira took a moment to choose her words. Instead of answering Shepard's question, she opted to inquire about his distressed state. "Are you alright, commander?"

He brought a hand to his head. "Alright?" he laughed angrily, "I feel like my brain has been scrambled like an egg!"

"The process was not gentle, and I apologize for that. Your mind is rather... rebellious…um…strong-willed, I should say."

In the pain, he'd slightly lost his temper. "I'm not here for a psych evaluation. I just need to know if you found anything."

The asari nodded and grimaced at the same time. The contradictory queues made Shepard's stomach drop. "The vision from the prothean beacon was a warning, but it is incomplete."

"What do you mean incomplete? It was the very same beacon Saren had used! It can't be incomplete!"

"Parts of the vision are gibberish. Others are scrambled and missing pieces. The only actionable intel that I could discern was warnings about the 'Reapers'. Unfortunately, they are figures you already know of."

His arm shook with rage. Not at her, but at the world. "So what the hell was the point of the cipher?"

"The cipher is knowledge, commander. It is language, thoughts, and culture; without it, the vision would be much more difficult to interpret. To understand the Protheans, you must think like a Prothean." Her words were blissful, maybe even jealous. "It is a wonderful gift."

His mood soured even further. The vision, the cipher, they were no gift. They were a constant source of nightmares; even though they were dreams, the horrifying scenes of death and despair felt all too real, which left him with a disturbing feeling of anxiety. Gifts don't torment you. However, his opinion didn't matter. "Then what did you interpret from the vision?"

"A warning. They sounded afraid and hopeless, and were trying to provide some sort of instructions, but what they allude to is clouded and unclear."

Shepard balled his fist and slammed it on the elbow rest of his seat, almost like a child would. "I have nothing to help me track down Saren, then." The soft material of the couch absorbed the impact, but his displeasure at the entire situation was very much clear.

"I'm sorry, commander. I know this must be frustrating for you-"

"I've wasted your time and mine."

Sha'ira laughed lightly. "There isn't such a thing. It is true, you haven't found anything that could help you find Saren, but do not overlook what you have learned."

"Enlighten me," he taunted.

"Your vision, from the very beginning, was incomplete. If you believe that this vision contains the roadmap of your enemy's plans, then you must find the missing pieces."

"From where? It's not like these things are just lying around everywhere."

Despite the commander's condescending attitude, Sha'ira kept herself calm and collected. Was his behavior out of taste? Definitely. Yet his current work was too important. "I don't pretend to have all the answers. I understand the gravity of your task and the frustration you must feel, but have faith."

"In what?" he snorted as he prepared to stand up from his chair. He was preparing to excuse himself. He didn't want to waste any more time and embarrass himself in places he should not be in.

"Yourself, and those around you. Your fate is to stop Saren and the reapers, and I do not believe you will fail."

"And why is that?"

"Your will is unbreakable. Once you have decided on a task, you complete it to the very end." She paused before finally adding: "For better or worse."

He sighed. He was on his feet now, prepared to leave.

"You rush too easily, commander."

"Life moves too quickly. Besides, I'm not exactly good company," he admitted.

"Every day, I deal with some of the most vile, sadistic, greedy, and heartless people that run the galaxy. I'm used to dealing with the… more difficult things the galaxy has to offer."

Shepard huffed. "So, these people are worth pampering then?"

"No, commander. Despite the reputation of my establishment, most people come here because they are not well, not because they want pleasure. What you perceive this place to be is nothing but a coat of paint that society has used to cover their insecurities. I've dealt with far worse within these walls."

"Anything else?" he asked, dismissing her last comment.

"Yes. I wanted to tell you something before you left. A word of advice that will help you on your journey." She took a deep breath before she continued. "Your entire life, your reason to live was always external. Find your own reasons." Her words confused him. It wasn't true. He lived for himself. He wanted to form a dismissive response, but she continued before he got a chance. "I saw those days when you murdered all those people. Did you ever ask yourself why?"

He felt like he got kicked in the gut. He collapsed back into the chair, as he did not have the will to stand. His mind fractured in two. He didn't know what to say. All at once, he was consumed by intense guilt and anger. "I…I thought they had taken everything from me…" He broke down; thoughts of holding back evaporated given that Shi'ara had mentioned his past; she now knew everything anyway, so what was the point in holding back? "I've lost everything I've ever had in my life! My family was murdered! My first and only friends were eaten by giant worms or experimented on! I was beaten as a child! This world doesn't care! Nobody cares! It's evil! That's the only reason people like Saren can get away with what they did!" Reanimated by rage, he launched himself out of his chair. "That's the only reason I got away, because nobody cares! And why should I?!" he yelled.

"You do care." Shi'ara had a sad smile on her face. "That's what made experiencing your life all the more tragic."

"I don't need lectures on life from the likes of you. Thank you for your help, but I think we are done here." He abruptly turned and left.

* * *

His elbows rested on the steel barrier. It was the only thing that prevented him from dropping into the chasm below. The _Normandy_ floated in the center, connected to the platform he stood on only by a thin metal tube. The ship was magnificent, and it was his baby. The light glistened and shined off its black and white hull. Sleek, stealthy, deadly; its ability made up for his disability. It's true, he could barely walk, but god damn, he could fly the fastest ship in the galaxy.

He did not like having to get up from his seat; usually, he only did so for the essentials: food, hygiene, and to relieve himself. He liked having to walk outside of the ship even less. However, while he was on the citadel, he could at least get some fresh air and see the light once in a while, instead of playing videogames on his omnitool.

When he was on the ship, he felt like a part of the team; he played an important part; dare he even say the most important part. But being docked felt like a chain had been placed around his ankles. He could not follow everyone else and explore the citadel as he saw fit, not unless it was something serious. Partying and drinking would be too dangerous; having fun wasn't worth shattering a tibia. That's why the best he could do was stand here and gawk at the _Normandy;_ flying is what gave his life purpose.

The quiet tranquility was disturbed by the sound of an elevator. Somebody was returning to the ship. He looked over and watched the doors slowly open. He'd been expecting a pack of alliance crewmen. Instead, he saw a single lonely figure; the large, darkly clad man strode out of the elevator, eyes staring at the floor.

"Shepard," he muttered. The man had been mysterious as of late, more than usual. The other day he had returned from the wards, bloodied, bruised, and half-drunk. No one knew where he'd come from, although some theorized that he'd gotten banged up at Cora's Den. That's all anyone knew about Commander Shepard: rumors and speculation built upon snippets of truth. The most recent one? Shepard had lost his biotics. No one who had definite knowledge was willing to shine a light on the situation, except only to inform the others that something was wrong with his implant. Shepard wouldn't say anything either. Joker was on the odd precipice of having pity but still shaking his head in disbelief. Sure, the man maybe couldn't do what he used to, and Joker could understand why losing that would suck. But at least Shepard could walk and run and jump and do all the things Joker couldn't.

The commander slowed his pace as he neared the pilot and eventually paused. "Joker," he stated joylessly, "I did not expect you to be out here."

The pilot turned so his body stood freestanding without the support of the railing. "I **can** walk, you know."

"You mean shuffle."

"You should know not to make fun of a cripple, commander." He paused for effect. "Afterall, now you know how it feels." Joker wasn't sure what he was going to get out of that comment; a punch in the face, the commander to break down and run away, a harsh rebuke; all options could have been on the table.

But the commander didn't lash out. He didn't appear angry. He simply turned to face the Normandy and rested his elbows on the railing, much like Joker had been doing before. His shoulders were slumped, and his head hung over the abyss, staring down at it.

Joker too went to lean on the railing, a few feet to the side of Shepard. "You're not planning on jumping to your death, right?"

"Not yet," the commander sighed in a defeated voice.

Joker took that as a joke. He would sleep better at night if he knew he didn't contribute to a man's suicide. Nevertheless, he decided to change the subject. It had been enough doom and gloom. "I heard you were trying to figure out the prothean vision. Any luck?"

"Luck," Shepard snorted while shaking his head remorsefully. "I have nothing that can help us find Saren. The vision is incomplete, even with the cipher!"

"I'm sure there'll be some geth you can mop up until something new comes. Or, I heard that Tali found the location of some secret Exo-Geni labs from the hard drives you stole from Feros. There's plenty of difficult stuff for you to kill in the meantime."

Joker had attempted to lighten the mood with his sarcasm and maybe even motivate the commander a little. But the commander still stared into the void, eyes glassy and sullen. "That's your solution, fight the battles we can win until Saren comes for us? I'm not even cleared for combat yet."

"Since when have injuries stopped you?" he asked demeaningly. Standing next to the soldier, Joker felt dwarfed. This fact served as further evidence for Joker's disbelief in Shepard's pessimistic attitude.

"Since when have you cared. You just fly the ship."

"It's not easy you know."

"Which is exactly my point. Fighting," he elaborated, "isn't easy either."

"Never said it was."

"Then what the fuck is your point, Joker?" Shepard demanded.

Jokes were his defense mechanism, his last resort if he didn't want to handle a difficult conversation. "Just making conversation," he replied sarcastically. Yet in retrospect, he cursed his stupidity for initially poking Shepard. To be quite honest, Joker never had a point. He was just trying to converse with anyone and keep his mind engaged. But Joker could see the defeat in the spectre; his voice, his stance, it was all different, all wrong. This man was the person who was supposed to stop a rogue spectre and his army of killer machines, and all Joker was doing was witling him down. The commander looked like a man who needed a good pep-talk from a friend. Except, he didn't have friends; or romances; or family. Shepard had nothing, only the weapons and the armor on his back. There was no one to pick him up or raise his spirits.

"When I was born, I had already broken half the bones in my body. I had Vrolik's syndrome, and the doctors said I wouldn't live. To their amazement, I survived my first day. They again told my parents that I wouldn't live. A week passed by, and again, to everyone's amazement, I was still alive. My childhood was terrible. I grew up on heavy medication; I'd shit my bowels out every night, feeling horrible. I couldn't walk without braces. I was always the odd kid out; couldn't play at recess, couldn't walk through the halls without help, couldn't go to the gym."

"And all that suffering prompted you to apply to the alliance flight school?" Shepard chuckled humorlessly.

"I grew up on Arcturus, surrounded by their new warships. It's the only thing I knew, so how couldn't I? When I got to the academy, I worked my ass off to become the top of my class. All those commendations? I earned them. By graduation, I was the best pilot in the Academy, and everyone knew it. But people still didn't believe; they couldn't bear the sight of a crippled man succeeding."

The commander had no response. He appeared to be listening; however, there was no way to tell if Joker's words were going in one ear and out the other. Nevertheless, Joker continued. " When I applied to fly the _Normandy_ , they rejected me, said that my condition made me unfit to fly such an advanced ship."

"Yet you are now the _Normandy's_ pilot," John stated matter-of-factly.

Joker laughed. To him, the memory felt like yesterday. "I wanted to prove them wrong, so I stole it from under their noses," he replied smugly. "When they sent fighters after me to disable the ship, I evaded them the entire time while completing the flight test. Eventually, I returned to the dock. When they apprehended me, they had asked why I had stolen the _Normandy_. I told them that I was the most qualified pilot on Arcturus and was born to fly her. The turian general who'd come to watch the ship's first flight agreed."

"You risked a court-marshal to satisfy your ego."

Shepard's words were…somewhat true. But it was more than just his ego that was at stake. "My entire life, everyone has doubted me. I make it my mission to prove them wrong. Court-marshals be damned."

Shepard turned his head to look at Joker. "And what am I supposed to do now, spill the story of my life too?" Shepard answered rather dryly.

It made Joker question why he had ever said anything to the commander at all. He referred to Shepard's original question, the one that had gotten the ball rolling. "No. This was my point."

A small, pained smile spread across Shepard's face. "I see." But he shook his head. "Unfortunately, wise words are difficult to live by."

"Life sucks. No one said it was going to be easy."

"On that, we can agree," the commander sighed. "That's why I don't complain."

"Oh, I wasn't complaining. I just need you motivated enough to stop Saren and the Geth so we all don't die."

Shepard burst out laughing. "And now we've come full circle." The man found death funny for some reason; this was much to Joker's discomfort, but not unexpected. "Just because I believe I won't catch Saren doesn't mean I will stop trying."

"With that mindset, I'm sure you'll get him. Would you like to share that sentiment with the crew too? I think it'll really motivate them!"

"What would you have me do, brag that we're better than Saren? There is no need for overzealous positivity."

"And there isn't any need to be overly negative either."

"I'm not being overly negative, I'm just not afraid of the truth. Saren was a spectre for years; highly respected; lethal; calculated; he commands an entire army, whereas the council and alliance don't even believe us, and only gave us one ship out of political appeasement. We have no clues, except to sit like ducks and wait for his next move. I can't stop him; it's simply impossible."

"This is rich! So all those medals, for all those times you saved the day and saved lives in spite of the difficulty, were a fraud?"

"I keep them in a cardboard box at the back of my tiny closet. You're free to help yourself to them because I sure as hell don't wear them. Those metals aren't from admirable service or heroics, Joker, they're from a life of…" _Killing._ "Pain."

"Do you enjoy throwing yourself under the bus so easily? No wonder you always look so miserable, you never take a step back and look at all that you've done. We'll find Saren, and I'm sure you'll put a bullet in his head."

They were both silent for a long time. It was awkward yet depressing. The conversation had turned tense, but it had to. If Shepard wanted to be all gloomy and depressed, that was fine by Joker. Unfortunately, Shepard was their commanding officer, in addition to being a council spectre. Joker didn't believe Shepard was committed to quitting; that man knew what was at stake too. But damn did Joker miss when the commander was a rude and angry jackass; honestly, he probably still was somewhat of a jackass. Yet there had been strength in the harshness. Ya, you didn't like him, but there was determination to the man. Now, Shepard looked like pure doom and gloom. He wasn't so much a man as a walking corpse. Commander Shepard was big, scary, and deadly, but he would be useless if he did not believe in himself or those around him.

"I don't want to step back," Shepard mumbled.

"Why, afraid that you'd have to reflect on life?"

Shepard sighed. He stopped leaning on the railing and straightened his posture. His body looked tense and aggressive, but when he turned his head to face Joker, his face was sagging. "Pretty much." He began to walk away, towards the docking tube of the Normandy.

"Care to share?"

The commander didn't respond, he just kept walking, head hung.

"Hey, that's not fair! You owe me." Joker had told his story, and it was only fair that the commander reciprocated. He thought about trying to hobble after the commander, but it would be useless.

* * *

Shame. He felt shame. He could never be that honest; not in a million years. Theft and slaughter were very different things. John appreciated Joker's kindness, even in its own odd and sarcastic manner. But John was never good at these things; sharing, learning, understanding others, it was all still a mystery. That was the other reason that he preferred to run away. Shepard stared death in the face every day, but he was used to that. When confronted with a new and uncomfortable situation, in this case about life, he was very much a coward.

He heard the pilot call out behind him. "Hey, that's not fair! You owe me." Probably, but Shepard did not have the balls. That's fine. John knew that Commander Shepard was a monster, but most of all, a failure: at being a soldier and at living.

At any rate, he had better things to do than chat with Joker, like cleaning his weapons and armor, or futilely reviewing what little evidence he had about the reapers to find clues, or ensuring that the ship would be ready for departure when the time came, or… or any other external task that would keep his mind occupied and direct his anger. Yes, Saren, geth, reapers, Cerberus, Exo-Geni scientists, he would kill them all. For a moment, he savored that thought, the thought of an end after accomplishing a difficult task. But he knew that wasn't true; there was no such thing as an end. There would always be another problem in the galaxy or another militant desire to exact barbaric revenge that would arise. There would only ever be one true end: the day he dropped dead. Until then, people usually remained a flurry of motion. A bright but short spark in a black void.

"Equalizing interior pressure with exterior atmosphere." The ships VI spoke, but he did not pay attention to it. For now, his mind was occupied with the current task, Saren. He had mocked Joker's attempt at stealing the _Normandy_. John had initially chocked it up to the pilot's ego. However, John realized that he too had an ego. And unlike Joker's, John's required that he prove himself better by killing the citadels best (former) spectre.


	44. Chapter 44

This place was much more than he had expected it to be. He felt disturbed and uncomfortable.

"Commander Shepard, a pleasure to finally meet you." The asari who'd spoken had her back turned to him.

"Hi," he said stoically, although he found it odd how the asari knew who he was without looking. He scanned the room: its richly colored paintings and decor, its ornate furniture, its shining walls, and its bright lights.

The asari finally turned to face him. "You can enter."

He realized he had stopped walking at the foot of the door. He had been reluctant to enter; in fact, he'd been reluctant to continue walking through this place ever since he put two and two together. "Are you Sha'ira?"

"Yes, I am." As she walked towards him, her long and colorful robes swayed with the movement. "You look uncomfortable. Would you like to take a seat?"

He cleared his throat. "Sure." He'd come here with little information. All Tevos had said was that Sha'ira would help him, but she'd left it intentionally vague. He made his way over to the most spartan piece of furniture he could find facing the door.

"You're every bit the soldier I expected, commander," Sha'ira said as she made her way over to the seat across from him.

He narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" He tried his best not to look like one; he was informed that he wouldn't be able to walk in with weapons and that he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he wore is armor. Right now, he was John Shepard in the most civilian clothing he had. Even then, he concluded that there must have been some miscommunication between him and Tevos' secretary. The vibes of this place were more casual than clinical. This hadn't been what he was expecting. It was unnerving.

"Your afraid someone will come bursting through, aren't you?" Sha'ira laughed lightly. "That's why you sat facing the door. You're scared to turn your back."

John shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "What?" he asked in confusion. He couldn't deny that he felt a constant anxiousness. He was more defenseless than ever. But he did not know how she could read him.

"Your body is stiff, your eyes are vigilant, you're tapping your left foot as if you plan on jumping out of that chair at any moment. You're nervous just being in this new place, and you chose to default to your best defense."

"Why would you say that?" Only when she listed off all the things she noticed did he realize that he was doing them. Why would he notice these things anyway? It was how he acted all the time. Sha'ira's perception crept him out, and he did not want to give her more ammunition. He made a conscious effort to stop his foot from tapping the floor, the most visible of his tells.

"Part of my job is reading people, Commander Shepard."

"And what's the other part of your job?" he asked with partial disgust and partial curiosity. It was the question that had been burning at the back of his mind ever since he had gotten here.

"Depends on the client. We try to adapt to their needs as best we can," she explained with a comforting smile.

"Huh." _Needs,_ he thought venomously. Not needs; weakness. However, despite his impulses, he would mind his tongue for now. From what he had heard, this woman was not to be trifled with, so he would deliver his thoughts in a tamer manner. "I'm in no need of any such extravagances."

"Of course. Councilor Tevos told me you're on a very important mission."

He realized that he had gotten so caught up in his own discomfort that he'd forgotten why he was here. "The mission," he muttered, "yes…the mission." It's what had really been giving him anxiety. He didn't know how to complete it, and he believed he'd be next to useless now. _No, I'll figure something out._ Not all soldiers had biotics. He'd started this assignment and he would finish it. "I'm hunting down someone very dangerous."

"Saren Arterius," Sha'ira stated.

His eyes widened in shock. He did not understand how she could possibly know, as he hadn't even said anything.

"I have powerful friends, commander."

Shepard laughed nervously; although he didn't find it amusing. "Clearly." Her comment made him recall what Valern had said about Sparatus being here. No doubt Tevos and Valern had been here as well; god knows who else. _Is this a cult thing?_ What the hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

"What are we picking up again?" Wrex grumbled. He did not like being regarded as a forklift.

"Weapons," Garrus said slyly.

"You should have said that from the start," Wrex grumbled. "But why are we at c-sec?"

Garrus spread his arms wide as the elevators opened to his old workplace. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"Bah! The selection is sub-standard," he retorted as he swatted Garrus' hand out of his face. "Shepard would never purchase their crap."

"C-sec has many secrets. If you have the right clearance, you can get access to some very select merchandise."

The two aliens walked down the stairs. Garrus then hooked a right, and Wrex followed the turian. "Nothing you couldn't find on the black market."

"Maybe, maybe not, but official manufactures are always better."

"Of course," Wrex laughed, "who would you sue when you injured yourself with it."

Garrus made a left. Wrex was no longer the only one lost, as this was a part of the headquarters that even he had never been to; he never had the clearance, but now he did. Well, technically only because of his employer. Shepard had asked him a favor: pick up the sniper rifle he'd purchased earlier. When asked why he couldn't do it himself, the commander had been rather sketchy and insisted that he was following a lead on Saren. No matter. Garrus had managed to swindle a discretionary budget out of the commander, and Garrus was looking to buy some upgrades of his own.

* * *

The commander collapsed out of his chair and onto the floor. He felt like vomiting, so he concentrated on his breathing: in through the nose, out through the mouth. Eventually, he collected himself enough to realize that the asari wasn't even fazed; she sat eloquently in her chair. He forced himself to get back up and sit in his chair, even though he still felt dizzy as hell. He hoped that all this pain and discomfort would be worth something.

"What…what did you find?"

Sha'ira took a moment to choose her words. Instead of answering Shepard's question, she opted to inquire about his distressed state. "Are you alright, commander?"

He brought a hand to his head. "Alright?" he laughed angrily, "I feel like my brain has been scrambled like an egg!"

"The process was not gentle, and I apologize for that. Your mind is rather... rebellious…um…strong-willed, I should say."

In the pain, he'd slightly lost his temper. "I'm not here for a psych evaluation. I just need to know if you found anything."

The asari nodded and grimaced at the same time. The contradictory queues made Shepard's stomach drop. "The vision from the prothean beacon was a warning, but it is incomplete."

"What do you mean incomplete? It was the very same beacon Saren had used! It can't be incomplete!"

"Parts of the vision are gibberish. Others are scrambled and missing pieces. The only actionable intel that I could discern was warnings about the 'Reapers'. Unfortunately, they are figures you already know of."

His arm shook with rage. Not at her, but at the world. "So what the hell was the point of the cipher?"

"The cipher is knowledge, commander. It is language, thoughts, and culture; without it, the vision would be much more difficult to interpret. To understand the Protheans, you must think like a Prothean." Her words were blissful, maybe even jealous. "It is a wonderful gift."

His mood soured even further. The vision, the cipher, they were no gift. They were a constant source of nightmares; even though they were dreams, the horrifying scenes of death and despair felt all too real, which left him with a disturbing feeling of anxiety. Gifts don't torment you. However, his opinion didn't matter. "Then what did you interpret from the vision?"

"A warning. They sounded afraid and hopeless, and were trying to provide some sort of instructions, but what they allude to is clouded and unclear."

Shepard balled his fist and slammed it on the elbow rest of his seat, almost like a child would. "I have nothing to help me track down Saren, then." The soft material of the couch absorbed the impact, but his displeasure at the entire situation was very much clear.

"I'm sorry, commander. I know this must be frustrating for you-"

"I've wasted your time and mine."

Sha'ira laughed lightly. "There isn't such a thing. It is true, you haven't found anything that could help you find Saren, but do not overlook what you have learned."

"Enlighten me," he taunted.

"Your vision, from the very beginning, was incomplete. If you believe that this vision contains the roadmap of your enemy's plans, then you must find the missing pieces."

"From where? It's not like these things are just lying around everywhere."

Despite the commander's condescending attitude, Sha'ira kept herself calm and collected. Was his behavior out of taste? Definitely. Yet his current work was too important. "I don't pretend to have all the answers. I understand the gravity of your task and the frustration you must feel, but have faith."

"In what?" he snorted as he prepared to stand up from his chair. He was preparing to excuse himself. He didn't want to waste any more time and embarrass himself in places he should not be in.

"Yourself, and those around you. Your fate is to stop Saren and the reapers, and I do not believe you will fail."

"And why is that?"

"Your will is unbreakable. Once you have decided on a task, you complete it to the very end." She paused before finally adding: "For better or worse."

He sighed. He was on his feet now, prepared to leave.

"You rush too easily, commander."

"Life moves too quickly. Besides, I'm not exactly good company," he admitted.

"Every day, I deal with some of the most vile, sadistic, greedy, and heartless people that run the galaxy. I'm used to dealing with the… more difficult things the galaxy has to offer."

Shepard huffed. "So, these people are worth pampering then?"

"No, commander. Despite the reputation of my establishment, most people come here because they are not well, not because they want pleasure. What you perceive this place to be is nothing but a coat of paint that society has used to cover their insecurities. I've dealt with far worse within these walls."

"Anything else?" he asked, dismissing her last comment.

"Yes. I wanted to tell you something before you left. A word of advice that will help you on your journey." She took a deep breath before she continued. "Your entire life, your reason to live was always external. Find your own reasons." Her words confused him. It wasn't true. He lived for himself. He wanted to form a dismissive response, but she continued before he got a chance. "I saw those days when you murdered all those people. Did you ever ask yourself why?"

He felt like he got kicked in the gut. He collapsed back into the chair, as he did not have the will to stand. His mind fractured in two. He didn't know what to say. All at once, he was consumed by intense guilt and anger. "I…I thought they had taken everything from me…" He broke down; thoughts of holding back evaporated given that Shi'ara had mentioned his past; she now knew everything anyway, so what was the point in holding back? "I've lost everything I've ever had in my life! My family was murdered! My first and only friends were eaten by giant worms or experimented on! I was beaten as a child! This world doesn't care! Nobody cares! It's evil! That's the only reason people like Saren can get away with what they did!" Reanimated by rage, he launched himself out of his chair. "That's the only reason I got away, because nobody cares! And why should I?!" he yelled.

"You do care." Shi'ara had a sad smile on her face. "That's what made experiencing your life all the more tragic."

"I don't need lectures on life from the likes of you. Thank you for your help, but I think we are done here." He abruptly turned and left.

* * *

His elbows rested on the steel barrier. It was the only thing that prevented him from dropping into the chasm below. The _Normandy_ floated in the center, connected to the platform he stood on only by a thin metal tube. The ship was magnificent, and it was his baby. The light glistened and shined off its black and white hull. Sleek, stealthy, deadly; its ability made up for his disability. It's true, he could barely walk, but god damn, he could fly the fastest ship in the galaxy.

He did not like having to get up from his seat; usually, he only did so for the essentials: food, hygiene, and to relieve himself. He liked having to walk outside of the ship even less. However, while he was on the citadel, he could at least get some fresh air and see the light once in a while, instead of playing videogames on his omnitool.

When he was on the ship, he felt like a part of the team; he played an important part; dare he even say the most important part. But being docked felt like a chain had been placed around his ankles. He could not follow everyone else and explore the citadel as he saw fit, not unless it was something serious. Partying and drinking would be too dangerous; having fun wasn't worth shattering a tibia. That's why the best he could do was stand here and gawk at the _Normandy;_ flying is what gave his life purpose.

The quiet tranquility was disturbed by the sound of an elevator. Somebody was returning to the ship. He looked over and watched the doors slowly open. He'd been expecting a pack of alliance crewmen. Instead, he saw a single lonely figure; the large, darkly clad man strode out of the elevator, eyes staring at the floor.

"Shepard," he muttered. The man had been mysterious as of late, more than usual. The other day he had returned from the wards, bloodied, bruised, and half-drunk. No one knew where he'd come from, although some theorized that he'd gotten banged up at Cora's Den. That's all anyone knew about Commander Shepard: rumors and speculation built upon snippets of truth. The most recent one? Shepard had lost his biotics. No one who had definite knowledge was willing to shine a light on the situation, except only to inform the others that something was wrong with his implant. Shepard wouldn't say anything either. Joker was on the odd precipice of having pity but still shaking his head in disbelief. Sure, the man maybe couldn't do what he used to, and Joker could understand why losing that would suck. But at least Shepard could walk and run and jump and do all the things Joker couldn't.

The commander slowed his pace as he neared the pilot and eventually paused. "Joker," he stated joylessly, "I did not expect you to be out here."

The pilot turned so his body stood freestanding without the support of the railing. "I **can** walk, you know."

"You mean shuffle."

"You should know not to make fun of a cripple, commander." He paused for effect. "Afterall, now you know how it feels." Joker wasn't sure what he was going to get out of that comment; a punch in the face, the commander to break down and run away, a harsh rebuke; all options could have been on the table.

But the commander didn't lash out. He didn't appear angry. He simply turned to face the Normandy and rested his elbows on the railing, much like Joker had been doing before. His shoulders were slumped, and his head hung over the abyss, staring down at it.

Joker too went to lean on the railing, a few feet to the side of Shepard. "You're not planning on jumping to your death, right?"

"Not yet," the commander sighed in a defeated voice.

Joker took that as a joke. He would sleep better at night if he knew he didn't contribute to a man's suicide. Nevertheless, he decided to change the subject. It had been enough doom and gloom. "I heard you were trying to figure out the prothean vision. Any luck?"

"Luck," Shepard snorted while shaking his head remorsefully. "I have nothing that can help us find Saren. The vision is incomplete, even with the cipher!"

"I'm sure there'll be some geth you can mop up until something new comes. Or, I heard that Tali found the location of some secret Exo-Geni labs from the hard drives you stole from Feros. There's plenty of difficult stuff for you to kill in the meantime."

Joker had attempted to lighten the mood with his sarcasm and maybe even motivate the commander a little. But the commander still stared into the void, eyes glassy and sullen. "That's your solution, fight the battles we can win until Saren comes for us? I'm not even cleared for combat yet."

"Since when have injuries stopped you?" he asked demeaningly. Standing next to the soldier, Joker felt dwarfed. This fact served as further evidence for Joker's disbelief in Shepard's pessimistic attitude.

"Since when have you cared. You just fly the ship."

"It's not easy you know."

"Which is exactly my point. Fighting," he elaborated, "isn't easy either."

"Never said it was."

"Then what the fuck is your point, Joker?" Shepard demanded.

Jokes were his defense mechanism, his last resort if he didn't want to handle a difficult conversation. "Just making conversation," he replied sarcastically. Yet in retrospect, he cursed his stupidity for initially poking Shepard. To be quite honest, Joker never had a point. He was just trying to converse with anyone and keep his mind engaged. But Joker could see the defeat in the spectre; his voice, his stance, it was all different, all wrong. This man was the person who was supposed to stop a rogue spectre and his army of killer machines, and all Joker was doing was witling him down. The commander looked like a man who needed a good pep-talk from a friend. Except, he didn't have friends; or romances; or family. Shepard had nothing, only the weapons and the armor on his back. There was no one to pick him up or raise his spirits.

"When I was born, I had already broken half the bones in my body. I had Vrolik's syndrome, and the doctors said I wouldn't live. To their amazement, I survived my first day. They again told my parents that I wouldn't live. A week passed by, and again, to everyone's amazement, I was still alive. My childhood was terrible. I grew up on heavy medication; I'd shit my bowels out every night, feeling horrible. I couldn't walk without braces. I was always the odd kid out; couldn't play at recess, couldn't walk through the halls without help, couldn't go to the gym."

"And all that suffering prompted you to apply to the alliance flight school?" Shepard chuckled humorlessly.

"I grew up on Arcturus, surrounded by their new warships. It's the only thing I knew, so how couldn't I? When I got to the academy, I worked my ass off to become the top of my class. All those commendations? I earned them. By graduation, I was the best pilot in the Academy, and everyone knew it. But people still didn't believe; they couldn't bear the sight of a crippled man succeeding."

The commander had no response. He appeared to be listening; however, there was no way to tell if Joker's words were going in one ear and out the other. Nevertheless, Joker continued. " When I applied to fly the _Normandy_ , they rejected me, said that my condition made me unfit to fly such an advanced ship."

"Yet you are now the _Normandy's_ pilot," John stated matter-of-factly.

Joker laughed. To him, the memory felt like yesterday. "I wanted to prove them wrong, so I stole it from under their noses," he replied smugly. "When they sent fighters after me to disable the ship, I evaded them the entire time while completing the flight test. Eventually, I returned to the dock. When they apprehended me, they had asked why I had stolen the _Normandy_. I told them that I was the most qualified pilot on Arcturus and was born to fly her. The turian general who'd come to watch the ship's first flight agreed."

"You risked a court-marshal to satisfy your ego."

Shepard's words were…somewhat true. But it was more than just his ego that was at stake. "My entire life, everyone has doubted me. I make it my mission to prove them wrong. Court-marshals be damned."

Shepard turned his head to look at Joker. "And what am I supposed to do now, spill the story of my life too?" Shepard answered rather dryly.

It made Joker question why he had ever said anything to the commander at all. He referred to Shepard's original question, the one that had gotten the ball rolling. "No. This was my point."

A small, pained smile spread across Shepard's face. "I see." But he shook his head. "Unfortunately, wise words are difficult to live by."

"Life sucks. No one said it was going to be easy."

"On that, we can agree," the commander sighed. "That's why I don't complain."

"Oh, I wasn't complaining. I just need you motivated enough to stop Saren and the Geth so we all don't die."

Shepard burst out laughing. "And now we've come full circle." The man found death funny for some reason; this was much to Joker's discomfort, but not unexpected. "Just because I believe I won't catch Saren doesn't mean I will stop trying."

"With that mindset, I'm sure you'll get him. Would you like to share that sentiment with the crew too? I think it'll really motivate them!"

"What would you have me do, brag that we're better than Saren? There is no need for overzealous positivity."

"And there isn't any need to be overly negative either."

"I'm not being overly negative, I'm just not afraid of the truth. Saren was a spectre for years; highly respected; lethal; calculated; he commands an entire army, whereas the council and alliance don't even believe us, and only gave us one ship out of political appeasement. We have no clues, except to sit like ducks and wait for his next move. I can't stop him; it's simply impossible."

"This is rich! So all those medals, for all those times you saved the day and saved lives in spite of the difficulty, were a fraud?"

"I keep them in a cardboard box at the back of my tiny closet. You're free to help yourself to them because I sure as hell don't wear them. Those metals aren't from admirable service or heroics, Joker, they're from a life of…" _Killing._ "Pain."

"Do you enjoy throwing yourself under the bus so easily? No wonder you always look so miserable, you never take a step back and look at all that you've done. We'll find Saren, and I'm sure you'll put a bullet in his head."

They were both silent for a long time. It was awkward yet depressing. The conversation had turned tense, but it had to. If Shepard wanted to be all gloomy and depressed, that was fine by Joker. Unfortunately, Shepard was their commanding officer, in addition to being a council spectre. Joker didn't believe Shepard was committed to quitting; that man knew what was at stake too. But damn did Joker miss when the commander was a rude and angry jackass; honestly, he probably still was somewhat of a jackass. Yet there had been strength in the harshness. Ya, you didn't like him, but there was determination to the man. Now, Shepard looked like pure doom and gloom. He wasn't so much a man as a walking corpse. Commander Shepard was big, scary, and deadly, but he would be useless if he did not believe in himself or those around him.

"I don't want to step back," Shepard mumbled.

"Why, afraid that you'd have to reflect on life?"

Shepard sighed. He stopped leaning on the railing and straightened his posture. His body looked tense and aggressive, but when he turned his head to face Joker, his face was sagging. "Pretty much." He began to walk away, towards the docking tube of the Normandy.

"Care to share?"

The commander didn't respond, he just kept walking, head hung.

"Hey, that's not fair! You owe me." Joker had told his story, and it was only fair that the commander reciprocated. He thought about trying to hobble after the commander, but it would be useless.

* * *

Shame. He felt shame. He could never be that honest; not in a million years. Theft and slaughter were very different things. John appreciated Joker's kindness, even in its own odd and sarcastic manner. But John was never good at these things; sharing, learning, understanding others, it was all still a mystery. That was the other reason that he preferred to run away. Shepard stared death in the face every day, but he was used to that. When confronted with a new and uncomfortable situation, in this case about life, he was very much a coward.

He heard the pilot call out behind him. "Hey, that's not fair! You owe me." Probably, but Shepard did not have the balls. That's fine. John knew that Commander Shepard was a monster, but most of all, a failure: at being a soldier and at living.

At any rate, he had better things to do than chat with Joker, like cleaning his weapons and armor, or futilely reviewing what little evidence he had about the reapers to find clues, or ensuring that the ship would be ready for departure when the time came, or… or any other external task that would keep his mind occupied and direct his anger. Yes, Saren, geth, reapers, Cerberus, Exo-Geni scientists, he would kill them all. For a moment, he savored that thought, the thought of an end after accomplishing a difficult task. But he knew that wasn't true; there was no such thing as an end. There would always be another problem in the galaxy or another militant desire to exact barbaric revenge that would arise. There would only ever be one true end: the day he dropped dead. Until then, people usually remained a flurry of motion. A bright but short spark in a black void.

"Equalizing interior pressure with exterior atmosphere." The ships VI spoke, but he did not pay attention to it. For now, his mind was occupied with the current task, Saren. He had mocked Joker's attempt at stealing the _Normandy_. John had initially chocked it up to the pilot's ego. However, John realized that he too had an ego. And unlike Joker's, John's required that he prove himself better by killing the citadels best (former) spectre.


End file.
